


Doldrums of the Soul

by PallanMinerva, TungstenCat



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Muramasa is an old man, Pseudo-Servants are not their vessels, Rare ships sailing in the background, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PallanMinerva/pseuds/PallanMinerva, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TungstenCat/pseuds/TungstenCat
Summary: For every violence, there is a kindness. For every sword, there is a sheath. Kama has long grown tired of this emptiness—the one she refuses to acknowledge. It drains her until all she sees is tainted in shades of gray. But, if she can open her heart just this once, perhaps this new Servant with an old soul can help her see in color again.
Relationships: Muramasa Sengo | Saber/Kama | Assassin
Comments: 40
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

Kama looked on, apathetic, as she brought a group of wolfmen to their knees with a curl of her fingers. They whimpered as streaks of power pierced them one by one. She could have made their suffering greater, but there was no joy to be found in such sadism. She was not like the _other_ _woman_ , who reveled in the pleasure of physical pain.

She was better than that.

Red stains grew as the bodies fell before her. She was soon joined by heavy footsteps that crunched in the snow. They grew softer and slower as they came closer, and she drifted away as Billy picked at the corpses for any bullets. Like the others, he said nothing. Like the others, he paid her no mind.

_Good. He knows his place._

The sky was near-colorless, white and gray with the threat of blizzards. Snow fell gently against her skin. It was both cold and not-cold, because gods do not feel cold. Gods only feel what their soul affines to. Her spirit was comfortable, but her flesh was not. 

She breathed, in and out.

“Well, best get goin’,” said Billy to no one, making his way back to the rendezvous point. She waited until he left before she did the same. She had seen the way people looked at her, or how they refused to. The _other woman_ spoke of this, the shunning and how they would walk around you. This was how Chaldea accepted their old enemies as new allies.

_“With silence,” she said with a beatific smile and a gilded gaze, even as the red Archer came to take her plate away. “It will come in time.”_

What did it matter? None of them were worthy of her time, let alone her love. Let them do what they wish, act how they want. She was here to watch Master fail and fall apart over and over again. The soul-crushing weight of repeated genocide would break her, and Kama would savor every moment of it. 

Everyone had come to the rendezvous point before her, and not a single one looked when she arrived. Even Master was too busy speaking with Da Vinci to pay her any mind. She smiled, because she knew it was pointed. She knew they were forcing themselves to look away, to ignore her, to blot out the goddess of love so that they wouldn’t fall into her trap all over again. 

“Okay, everyone, prepare for Rayshift,” said Master, wearing a smile for the damned. 

Kama returned with everyone else, the Rayshift letting her fall back into the coffin with nothing more than an inkling of nausea. She paid no mind to the staff or the other Servants as she left the Command Center and astralized. Let them ignore her. Let them turn their eyes. 

Though this vessel was mortal, she was eternal. She would live while they decayed and died. She would continue to _(wish for)_ love and be _(undeserving of being)_ loved. 

_As things ought to be._

She frowned as she passed a junction of hallways and saw the _other woman_ speaking easily with Amakusa. The _other woman’s_ gaze drifted off of the saint and found her, despite the fact that Kama was astralized. Her golden eyes only served to annoy her, but it was also the first time anyone had looked at her all day. The _other woman_ smiled and said something to Amakusa before walking away—no, in this direction. 

_Tch. I don’t need you pitying me._

She said nothing as the _other woman_ strode down the halls and turned the corner, but she did trail behind a good distance away. After some time and many hallways, the _other woman_ eventually stepped through the door that led to the arboretum and Kama grudgingly followed her in.

She materialized next to the _other woman_ in a faux-field, surrounded by fake oaks and a lying blue sky. 

“You are not trying,” said the _other woman_ , taking a seat in the grass _._

“What would you know?” said Kama, annoyed. She sat down anyway, comfortably stretching out her legs.

The woman smiled. “Given I was exactly where you are now? More than you. I, at least, tried.”

“They are blind— _dumb_ —and I would rather be sought by voles.”

“And yet, the animals do _not_ seek you out.” The woman motioned to their surroundings. “Perhaps your love is not lovely enough.”

 _“Shut up,”_ she growled, noting with rising frustration that the _other woman’s_ smirk only grew. At the very least, she obeyed, and Kama had a moment of relative quiet. 

_Why did I even follow her? She always bothers me. I can’t stand her._

“If you cared,” the woman tilted her head, “you could have them begging at your feet for a single glance, a single word.”

“I am sure the same could be said for you,” Kama pointed out dryly, “or the Babylonian.”

“Ishtar is playing with her food,” the woman dismissed the other goddess with a wave of her hand, “and I… well, let’s just say this place has caused me to turn over a new leaf.”

Kama snorted. “Please. Lie to the rest of them if you like, but I hate you enough to know what you truly are.”

The woman giggled. “Are you sure about that?”

Kama did not deign to answer, and another silence descended. She hoped that this one would last a little longer. It was not to be, though, as an animal cry tore through the forest.

_Birdsong?_

Kama furrowed her eyebrows as she listened. High-pitched calls echoed between the trees. Her frown deepened with every cry, every mating scream, every—

“Do you care at all for stories, Kama?”

The name drew her eyes to the other woman, whose gold eyes twinkled in the fake afternoon light. 

“Not in the slightest,” she sneered reflexively. 

“Then indulge me a little,” Kiara replied easily. She resituated herself to sit more comfortably, black tresses cascading down her shoulders. Folding her hands, she inhaled deeply. 

_Here we go. Why must they always make a production of it? She’s as bad as that Scheherazade._

“There was once a man who hoarded everything he could,” she began. “Anything he could find; trinkets and riches, base pleasures and high ideals, whatever he could clasp to himself. But there was something he was always missing—he did not have love, for he could not capture it in a bottle or pile it in his vaults.”

Kama sighed. She could already tell where this was going.

Ignoring her, Kiara continued. “The man tried everything he could to attain it. Reluctantly, he gave his hoard away bit by bit; he gave the treasures to the poor and felt sparks of happiness come with their gratitude. He gave his ideas to the philosophers and knew comradery in their excited exchanges. And yet, he still couldn’t find love.”

Kama rolled her eyes. 

“Eventually, he turned his house into an orphanage and left his home with little else but the clothes on his back. He had learned joy, enlightenment, and yet he was not fulfilled as he wanted to be.”

“Let me guess,” Kama interrupted, “he stumbles on a good-hearted woman, falls madly in love, and they lived happily ever after.”

The twinkle in the other woman’s eyes grew.

“Not quite.” Kama frowned at this, and Kiara continued. “The man eventually found himself penniless, homeless, and starving on the street. With the last of his energy, he settled down in his favorite park, on his favorite bench, and watched the people pass by. He knew he could ply upon the generosity of kind hearts, but he was tired. He had searched all his life for love and had come up empty. He was ready to let go.”

Kiara took another breath.

“As his eyes began to close, he saw a couple hug each other closely. He saw how the woman rested her weight on the man, how she trusted him to catch her. The epiphany almost stopped him from drifting away: he had given away everything he owned, but he never gave himself to someone.”

A small wind drifted through the clearing in the quiet that followed.

“As tempting as it is,” Kama drawled, “you’ll need to seek your next bed warmer elsewhere.”

The other woman smiled. “I expect that soon, you will have to do the same. At a certain point, chasing after me as you do will not satisfy your needs. You must learn to let someone catch you.”

Kama scoffed and turned to leave, floating between the gaps in the trees. 

_As if anyone could bear my burden._

* * *

A few days later, there was a rustling of whispers down the halls. It didn’t take long for Kama to learn what had transpired—a new Servant had been summoned, and he was already making himself useful by setting up a forge to improve the weaponry of Chaldea’s army. What caught a fragment of her attention, however, was how he had withdrawn to wherever he had set up his workplace and had not come out—even for meals. Not that Servants needed to eat, but it was hard to forget that, given how they all indulged so deeply. 

Despite this, he had not left a bad impression. Indeed, given all that she had overheard…

“Okay, I’m gonna do it.” Kintoki strode down the halls, determination glinting in his sunglasses. 

“And what are you going to do when she pushes you into her chest and cries?” Tamamo asked, her tone halfway between impressed and concerned. “If you fall apart again, _like you’ve done before,_ then you’ll only be making it worse.”

“No, this time, it’s for real,” he replied firmly, breezing past Kama’s dematerialized form. “Boss Raikou needs to hear this, or else…” 

He stopped and sighed.

“…or else the old man’s right. And I gotta be better than that.” He banged his fists together. “Alright. Here I go.”

“I’ll be waiting outside for you,” Tamamo said as she followed him around the corner.

…that new Servant gave a lot of good advice. Approachable, too, given how many Servants she’d seen coming out of his forge. Some of them were angry, some of them were smiling, but all were deep in thought. There was a low buzz of curiosity annoyingly nestled in her thoughts. 

_I wonder…_ She shook her head before the idea could take root. _No, better not. It would only be the same. They’re all the same._

And yet, there she was, floating down the hallway in the direction of what she understood to be his forge. She scowled at herself. 

_Well, if nothing else, it will at least prove the point._

The moment she opened the door and her foot crossed the threshold, she was engulfed in heat. A blinding glow emitted from the piece of metal the Servant was hammering on an anvil, each blow pounding in her ears. She took a moment to compose herself before moving in, head raised high and back straight.

_A goddess is above all sensation, especially petty discomforts._

She paused a distance away, purposely placing herself in his peripheral vision. The script was well-worn in her mind. He would turn to look at her, and for a moment there would be admiration and awe, before he realized who she was and turned away, never to see her again. Any moment now…

The hammer swung. The sparks flew. _Clang._

She crossed her arms and waited. Any moment now…

The hammer swung. The sparks flew. _Clang._

_Look up, you inconsiderate man._

The hammer swung. The sparks flew. _Clang._

He finally looked up from his work, and for a moment she saw the natural order fall back into place. Then he picked up the piece and swiveled right past her. Her jaw dropped as he quenched the metal in a water trough—as if she wasn’t even there. 

Kama was used to being ignored, but never quite so thoroughly. A spark of anger lit in her chest. She opened her mouth to chastise him for such disrespect—

“Well?” he cut in, turning to her with the cooling piece still in hand. “You gonna speak up, or are you just gonna gawp all day?”

The spark in her chest grew into a flame.

“How impudent!” she snapped. “If you knew who you were speaking to, you would be groveling at my knees for forgiveness!”

“Says the lady who waltzed in without even a knock,” he drawled, taking the piece back to the anvil. “No one ever teach you any manners?”

The flame snarled.

“No one teaches a goddess _anything!”_ she replied, raising her volume as the hammer blows resumed. “It is _I_ who teaches men—and for you, the lesson will clearly taste of my wrath.”

Though she couldn’t quite hear him over the clanging of steel, she saw his shoulders shake with mirth. 

“Well, if you’ve come here to sell yourself as a tutor, rethink your strategy.” For the first time, he met her eyes, wearing an amused smile. “You clearly ain’t dressed for the part.”

She held back a growl and took a deep breath to center herself. When she opened her eyes again, he was shoving the metal back into the forge.

“Very well,” she said calmly. “Let us see what kind of dull blade Master has added to her arsenal. I will grant you the mercy of stepping outside your forge before I break your steel into shards.”

“Is that all you’re here for?” He didn’t even turn to look at her. “Stop wasting my time.”

She choked on the anger rising in her throat. 

“You… you…” she sputtered indignantly. _“How dare you!_ I am not like the rest of these lower lifeforms. I once stood in opposition to all of Chaldea and nearly _won_.”

“You got a contract, don’t’cha?” he replied. “You look like the rest of ’em to me.”

Before she could reconsider, she stomped over to the forge and pulled out the glowing red metal. It _didn’t_ hurt. A goddess was above pain. Grimacing, she looked at him.

“Then you’ve been staring into the forge too long,” she growled. “For what? A sword I could shatter in one swing?”

She wanted to see his face twist in pain. No craftsman could stand seeing his work brought to ruin before it even took form. She drew her arm back and smashed the nascent blade against the forge. It exploded into hot fragments that scattered across the floor. With a triumphant smirk, she turned to see what she had wrought.

His eyes were filled with pity. He looked at her as if—as if—

The fire burnt cold inside of her. Kama could take anger and hatred, relish in them even. But she could not abide pity. 

_Being pitied is just another burden._

She threw the jagged remnant of the blade into the forge’s fire and turned on her heel, strutting out. The uncomfortable heat gave way to the sterile coolness, and the fire in her chest dimmed out. Finally, she could relax. Out here, things made sense. 

_Let him stay in his den. A goddess scarcely cares for the words of a man who’s barely lived more than a lifetime._

She failed to notice that he was the first person to look at her that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another brain worm that I couldn’t get rid of. Pseudo-Servants often get too associated with their vessels for people to see them for the characters they actually are, so I posed myself this question: “Can I write a Kama/Muramasa romance without _any_ reference to a Shirou/Sakura dynamic?” The answer: no. Not by myself. Luckily, I managed to pull TungstenCat onto the project with me (despite her initial animosity towards Muramasa due to his fanbase), and with her help we were able to actually compose something. I plan to have one chapter a week. If you know me, you should be groaning and pouring some alcohol out, because Lord knows I can’t keep a deadline to save my life, but the difference is I actually have a few chapters written already. I’ll be trying to keep to this schedule by writing more ahead of time.
> 
> Here’s TungstenCat’s note: “Thanks a lot, Minerva. I was all set to burn Muramasa out of pure petty spite if he ever appeared in my Chaldea. Now I have to feed him all my embers, and it’s all your fault.  
> More seriously, I was really flattered that Minerva invited me to work on this with him. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.”
> 
> Thanks to Kat-2V for giving this a quick edit.
> 
> Your ending theme is [_Goddess_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyzjJYugE3o)by **Cepheid (feat. Nonon)**.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Muramasa sighed deeply, throwing aside a chunk of ore as he sat down on a bench in his forge.

_ You’d think that with all this hocus-pocus and high-tech mumbo jumbo, they’d be delivering me better metal. Nope. Same story it’s always been, same crappy iron. If you want something done right… _

He groaned as he pushed himself up from his seat, though it was more from habit than genuine strain. This young body had him feeling as alive as he’d ever been, and stronger than he’d ever known. He twirled his hammer around his finger, finding small amusement in how easy the action was.

Chaldea was a funny place with all sorts of people stuffed in its halls. Muramasa was just an old geezer that wanted to make a good sword. It was strange that he got to join the likes of Minamoto-no-Raikou and Tamamo-no-Mae, let alone all the foreign heroes. But they called for him, and he answered. Might as well do what he can to help.

Continuing to flip his hammer around in one hand, he opened the door and immediately noticed how  _ cold _ it was in the halls.

_ Jeez, you tryna freeze these old bones? Kids these days…  _

“Now where’s that damn room again…” he muttered, hooking the hammer on his toolbelt. After a few moments standing around like a jackass, he decided to just turn left and hope for the best. It didn’t take long for him to stumble across someone.

“Heya, Gramps!” Musashi called from down the hall, slurping at a bowl of udon as she ran to join him. 

“Don’t run and eat,” he said. “You’re gonna choke.”

“Haven’t so far,” she said cheerfully before wolfing down the rest of the bowl in one gulp. Idly spinning the empty dish on one finger, she fell into step beside him. “This is the first time you’ve left the forge since you got here, isn’t it? Finally got hungry, or just wanted to see some cute girls?” She winked. “Maybe both?”

“Shut your trap before I do it for ya,” he grumbled.

Instead of looking intimidated, her eyes brightened. “Sweet! Does that mean we’re finally going to cross blades?” The thumb of her free hand rested on the hilt of her katana. “I’ve been looking forward to this since Toke Castle.”

“I make blades, kiddo,” he said. “I don’t use ’em. That’s your job.”

“Too bad,” she said agreeably. “If you ever change your mind…”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first twelve times.” Muramasa sighed. “You happen to know where the… what’s it called… that place with the spinning thingamajig is?”

Musashi’s brow furrowed for a moment before she smiled. “The control center? It’s over in the east wing. Come on, I’ll walk you there.”

“‘preciate it,” he said.   


He wasn’t surprised at how little time it took for the swordswoman to fill the silence again.

“You’re looking good, Gramps,” she said as she steered them around one of many identical looking corners. “About time you walked around a little. If you sit bent over a workbench all day, your legs will wither away, you know?”

“I’ve been doing this for more decades than you’ve been alive, kid,” he said. “Plus, this boy ain’t been slackin’ in the physical department.”

She gave his chest an admiring glance before shrugging. “No, he certainly hasn’t been. Too bad it’s an old geezer holding the reins.”

“What is it about this place?” he groused. “All you young’uns got so much energy, but no respect. Why, back in my day—” 

“—when Susano-Ou still wandered the earth—” Musashi interjected with a grin.

_ “Ahem.” _ He shot her what he hoped was a dark look, but it melted in her sunny disposition. “Aw, forget it.”

“So hey, made anything interesting since you got here?” Enthusiasm bubbled in her tone. “You’ve been shut up in there for over a week.”

“What, Myoujingri ain’t good enough for you?” he said.

“Oh no, it’s been great. Cuts like a dream,” said Musashi, lovingly patting the sheathed blade. Then, with a drawn-out sigh, she turned to face him. “But I don’t think it was good enough for you, was it?”

Muramasa clicked his tongue. 

“Yeah, well, most like ’em anyway,” he replied. “As far as what I’ve been doin’? Well, I did have somethin’ in the works, but… it broke in an accident.”

“Hit it too hard?” she asked sympathetically, and _goddamn it_ , were these hallways ever going to end?!

“Somethin’ like that, yeah…” he muttered. 

It wasn’t too unusual for people to come check out the new guy, especially when he took a whole forge for himself. More than a few folks who came by had… overly inflated opinions of themselves. Why, that weird Irish queen looked ready to strip him down until she realized he wasn’t her type. 

But no one made the kind of impression that that goddess did. 

She gave a feeling of being many years older than she looked—which he supposed made sense, being a goddess and all—but she certainly didn’t act like it. At first, she was pretty funny, stuck on her high horse like that. He’d seen that type before. They usually left pretty fast once you didn’t give them what they wanted. But then she went and broke his newest project. He’d had high hopes for that one, too. He was ready to snap until he  _ really _ looked at her.

_ Well damn, she’s hurtin’. _

Musashi’s elbow nudging his ribs pulled him from his thoughts. “Hey, Gramps. Do you like fireworks?” She pointed towards the end of the corridor. “Because we’re about to get some big ones!”

“Eh?” He looked down the hall. Some blue Lancer leaning on his red spear was trying to chat up a big snake lady. The serpents at the end of her hair were hissing at the spearman, but the guy didn’t seem to care.

“Gotta admire Cú’s dedication,” whistled the swordswoman. “Hits on any cute girl that catches his eye—the fiercer the better. Still, he’s got guts trying it on Gorgon.”

Muramasa could see Gorgon’s tail flicking back and forth in aggravation, but she wasn’t moving away either. Behind her, though, he sensed a familiar presence. Like the night sky and lotus petals.

_ Speak of the devil… or goddess, in this case. _

Neither of the flirting couple batted an eye as the astralized Servant passed by. She might not even have existed but for the hissing of Gorgon’s snakes. Muramasa’s frown deepened. He looked at the space occupied by her floating aura. It continued to drift past both him and Musashi. He was  _ sure _ that the sociable swordswoman would say something.

Yet Musashi only smiled in the couple’s direction. “She’s kind of into it. Who would have thought?”

He briefly considered bringing up the astralized Servant, but decided against it. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s still got all his limbs.” She shrugged. “But you wanted the command center, yeah? Come on, old man. Unless you want me to bring you back for your afternoon nap.”

“Sounds like a good idea if you want all your swords made of pig iron,” he said casually.

“Hey, wait, I didn’t say that!” she protested, looking worried for the first time.

“Then shut up and get goin’ already.”

“You’re such a hardass sometimes, you know that?”

“Comes with age.”

* * *

The forge held everything he could ask for: good charcoal, decent tools, a nice set of bellows, even the right crinkle of  _ washi _ paper. He should’ve been as happy as a pig in the mud. But as Muramasa took out the glowing hot steel and prepared to chisel and fold it, there was an ache of dissatisfaction. Like the ache he used to get before the rains came.

He sighed and wiped at the sweat on his brow before continuing to fold the steel, hammering it into place. Eleven layers done, only four to go. 

He  _ was _ getting used to this space. Its compactness made it easier to work on the blade, which was coming along faster than he’d allowed for. He had already screwed it up, as expected, but he never left a blade half-finished. Maybe he’d even learn something this time around.

_ Might as well take a second if I’ve got the time. Need to catch my breath anyhow. _

He placed the steel back in the forge and sat down on the nearby bench. A little rest wouldn’t hurt as long as he kept an eye on it.

Not a moment too soon. Stars and lotuses passed through the door again. 

“Well, well, well,” the goddess said as she floated around, her smirk just as sharp as he expected. “The famous cursed blacksmith idling away. What would your fans say?”

“Read up on me, have you?” he replied. “Us—how’d you say it—lower lifeforms gotta take breaks sometimes. Even Servants have their limits.”

“What a pity,” she said, picking up a nearby hammer. It looked comically large in her elegant hand. “I need only a thought to swing this hammer, and I could do it as long as I liked. Until the sky fell, if I fancied it.”

“Funny enough,” he grunted, “it ain’t something I need to think too much about.” He made a show of looking her over. “You hankerin’ to be my apprentice?”

“Why would I lower myself to mundane steel when the power of the stars spins in my fingers?” She held up a hand, a miniature galaxy rotating in her palm. “I have already told you that a goddess is not taught to, she teaches.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Not sure why else you’d’ve come.”

“I’ll have you know—”

“Stop yappin’ and sit down already,” he rumbled and moved to the forge. “Any more and this is gonna overheat.” A stray thought came to mind and he turned around, arching an eyebrow at her. “Unless that’s what you’re here for.”

Her expression darkened. Not bothering to see what she did next, he turned forward again to pull the sword out. He brought it to the anvil and started chiseling at the hot steel once more, noting that she had taken a seat after a few moments.

The only sound in the forge for a little while was him striking the metal and folding it. That was just fine. He liked working in that silence. Muramasa was never very social, and he was perfectly okay with that. But that goddess had come in with a chip on her shoulder, and she looked quite determined to bash it in his face. 

“So?” Muramasa asked after a while. “You come to torture an old man again?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said coldly. “You just need to be reminded of your place.”

“Really?” he asked. “I thought that was pretty clear—my place is the forge. You’re the one who barged in uninvited  _ again _ without even introducin’ yourself.”

A little more silence. 

“Although you are unworthy of speaking it,” she said, “I suppose it’s best if you have a name to plead to. You may address me as Kama.”

He paused in his hammering to look straight at her, and politely bowed his head. “Sengo Muramasa. Feel free to hang around as long as you don’t get in the way again.”

When he raised his head, she was staring at him carefully. 

“Delude yourself with fantasies of my company if you like,” she said with a cruel quirk of her lips. “Many have. But do not believe for a second that I will indulge you.”

He shrugged and turned back to his work. “Door’s open.”

Another silence. Fold twelve finished, three more to go. He put the metal back in the forge and stepped aside to drink water from a flask. Any open drink kept in the forge would grow too warm. 

“Is this how you treat every visitor?” Kama asked, and when he turned to her, he saw challenge in her gaze.

“Life’s too short to sweat the details,” he said with a nod, sipping occasionally. “You wanna come here and shoot the breeze, that’s fine. You too busy for that, that’s fine too. S’long as you ain’t in the way, I don’t care.”

She stared at him a moment longer. He didn’t flinch away from its intensity. A ghost of her smirk came back.

“So it does not matter who may walk through the door, you care about everyone equally little.”

He shrugged. “Pretty much, yup. Already told ya: life’s short.”

“And you would spend it here,” Kama said, twirling a small galaxy in her fingertips. “Wasting away at—what was it—bloodthirsty blades that can’t be sheathed before tasting death?”

“I can see you really did your readin’, huh,” he grunted, moving back to the forge. “Yeah, I made some real nasty works. Tryna be better these days. Y’think a man can’t change?”

“I think man is destined to fail,” she replied. “Your miserable lives are so insignificant. You will never reach divinity, you will never know the heavens.”

He could  _ hear  _ her smirk. “So tell me, swordsmith, is this what you desire? Another life of failure, another lonely deathbed?”

Muramasa sighed as he turned the blade over to heat it evenly.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real piece of work?” he asked. “Listen, lady—”

“You will address me either by my name or by Mistress,” she interrupted. “I will not abide by anything else.”

He turned around to give her a flat stare. “I’m remindin’ ya that you’re the one who came in here,  _ Your Worshipfulness. _ Now shut up and let an old man think.”

She lifted her chin but, for once, remained silent. Taking the sword out of the forge once more, he considered the question. It might not have come from a genuine place, but perhaps she would get something from receiving genuinity.

“Not many swordsmiths out there who don’t think about what their blades’re used for,” he said, chiseling at the blade again. “Anyone who tells you that they’re makin’ a sword fer peacetime is a liar. People’re gonna kill each other no matter what we do. All we’re doing is making it a little easier.”

Clang.

“What I do ain’t much different,” he continued. “I never made any cursed swords in my life. People blamed  _ me _ for what  _ they _ did. Too many people, turns out, n’now I’m wonderin’ if I’m gonna need an exorcism.”

“So you admit it,” she said. “And yet as soon as you arrived, you threw yourself into the forge once more. What do you expect to accomplish but the proliferation of further misery?”

“Like I said, don’t matter whether I’m makin’ ’em or not,” he retorted. “I’ve got my eyes set on one thing, and that’s all that matters.”

“Ah yes, the  _ perfect sword _ ,” she sneered. “Only a mortal could be so arrogant as to believe they could cut the threads that bind the universe itself.”

“Yup,” he answered simply. 

“And you  _ really _ aren’t concerned about what they’ll do with it?” she asked, a touch of disbelief creeping into her voice.

“Not my problem.”

“Unbelievable.” He could sense her shaking her head. “But then again, I have seen no limit to the depths humanity will plunge to carve its name on a meaningless record.”

“Got that right,” he said, folding the metal again.  _ Thirteen. _ “Gotta do whatcha can with the time you got.”

“Well, if you wish to waste yours away in pursuit of this foolish dream, I won’t stop you.” He heard her get up, her presence making its way to the exit. “Perhaps it will serve some amusement. Do try to entertain me.”

He rolled his eyes as she left.

_ I’d hate to see what her parents were like. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A theme that you’ll see going through this work is that both Muramasa and Kama are old souls. They’ve lived long lives (Kama infinitesimally longer, of course). This is something like old news to them. Doesn’t mean that this won’t be challenging, of course. Each has their own baggage.
> 
> TungstenCat continued to be kind enough to work on this with me, filling in all the potholes I stumbled on. She chose to refrain from any note this time, so I can thank her here without her being allowed to say a word. You rock, Cat! You’re the best! Kat-2V was also instrumental by making sure that the chapter was ready to be posted from an outsider’s perspective, so I must thank him as well. Remember, folks: don’t be afraid to seek criticism from those you trust. No one else apart from you and them can tell you who you are.
> 
> Your ending theme for this chapter is [_Into the Doldrums_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McYWBsystGE) by **Chris Christodoulou** , the song that inspired the title of this work. Doldrums has two definitions.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Kama was not cold.

It didn’t matter that the wind was freezing, and that her attire was chosen for presentation and mobility rather than coverage. Mere flesh could always be conquered by will, and none had more will than a goddess who witnessed the birth of suns. 

_What is that stupid man’s excuse?_

Muramasa knelt before one of the few freshwater springs on the mountains of the Wandering Sea. Pants scuffed by mud, he methodically filled up two barrels. He was down in the dirt, while she floated cross-legged a few inches above the ground. _The way things should be,_ she thought with a touch of spite.

As he worked, she let her gaze roam over the corded muscles of his arms. 

_Not bad_ , she mused, lingering on the bicep with the practiced appraisal of a connoisseur. _Classically masculine, if a little out of proportion from all that forgework._

The wind picked up and she shivered before remembering that she couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ . It didn’t matter how many gusts blew, or how the cliff face funneled them to every inch of exposed skin. There was purity in the harsh landscape—one that she knew she liked. It suited her. It _did._

“Pick up a barrel,” the swordsmith suddenly spoke.

“What?” she blurted out before catching herself. 

“If you’re here, might as well make yourself useful instead of sittin’ around like a bump on a log.” His breath curled in the cold air as he put a bucket down. “Would help keep ya warm too.”

“I’m _not_ cold,” she insisted, clutching her arms to herself.

Muramasa looked at her with an upturned eyebrow. “Wanna try that again?”

Kama did not deign to reply, only turned her nose up. He grunted and got back to filling the barrels, and she held herself even more tightly. A few moments passed in silence before he sighed and held a hand out. A white haori materialized in his grip, and he threw it in her direction.

“W-wha—” She caught it before it touched the ground. “You had this all along? Are you a masochist?”

He shrugged. “Don’t feel the cold anymore. Got used to it.”

She fumed and pulled it on with a huff. “Very well. I shall make use of it, but only so that you cannot ask for it back.”

“Keep it,” he said. “Don’t wear the damn thing much anyway.”

She waited until he went back to his chore before settling more deeply into the sleeves. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled like ash and smoke, as if a coal from his fire was nestled inside it.

_How crude… yet warm._

“So what’s your excuse this time?” he asked.

“What are you talking about? A goddess needs no excuse to wander as she will.”

“Yeah, but these wanderin’s been fittin’ a pattern, don’t’cha think?” he said calmly. “Five times in my forge this week alone. Ain’t seen nobody else come that much, ‘sides the kid.”

She smirked. “You are a fraction more interesting than the rest. A very _small_ fraction, you understand.”

“Hm,” he grunted. “Strange. All I’ve been doin’ is hammerin’, chiselin’, and ignorin’ ya.”

 _Ignoring, but not actively turning away._ It was a change of pace, she would give it that much. And far more pleasant company than the aggressively condescending looks from the _other woman._

“And does that not speak volumes for the other inhabitants of this miserable rock?” she replied, gesturing to the landscape with her hands. 

“Suit’cherself.”

“I always do. That is my prerogative as a goddess, after all.”

He snorted but held his tongue for once. Smirking in triumph, she watched as he dipped the bucket into the spring again. The water sloshed over his hands. If the wind was cold, that must have felt frigid.

“Why _this_ water, anyway?” Kama demanded. “As I understand it, that Sion took every pain to replicate Master’s precious Chaldea down to the smallest tile. There is more than enough water to quench a thousand of your little projects.”

“Smithin’ is all about control,” Muramasa explained. 

A storm gathered on her brow. _Is he mocking me?_

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked darkly. 

“Y’gotta control every variable you can. Heat of the forge, tension of the steel.” His hand found his lower back as he straightened. _An old man’s gesture in a young man’s body,_ she thought amusedly. “As convenient as them hot tubs might be, they got more magic than water in ’em. For smithin’, that means impurity. I need my tools pure.” 

“And this dirty groundwater _is?”_

“Yup.”

She would never understand this man.

Crossing her arms again, she waited in silence while he finished filling the last barrel and sealed it shut. He hauled one over each shoulder and picked up the bucket, beginning to make his way down the twisted path. He didn’t even glance back to see if she was following. For a moment, she wondered if she should stay behind just out of spite, but that would do nothing but make her colder.

She floated after him. His sandals had surprisingly good purchase in the muddy ground, but it didn’t change that he was bound to it, unlike her. Yet he didn’t complain, only bore his burden with stoicism. It was almost admirable.

“Here, help an old man out,” Muramasa said abruptly and pivoted to face her.

“Huh?” Before Kama could pull away, a barrel fell into her hands. She nearly dropped it, the unexpected weight pulling her down some. 

So much for admirable.

 _“What are you doing!?”_ she hissed.

He shot her a critical eye. “Right, better stick to one,” he said. “I’ll bring three next time. If this’s gonna be a regular thing, you might as well start pullin’ yer weight.”

Her fingers itched to summon her spear and skewer those stupid barrels into the ocean, but the words ‘regular thing’ mollified her for reasons she didn’t want to understand. She harrumphed and set it in her lap as she moved to float alongside him.

“Mortals have absolutely no respect for goddesses these days…” she muttered.

“I know the feeling,” he grumbled. 

“Hypocrite.”

“I could say the same for you, lady.”

“I said _Mistress—”_

“Oh, I’m sorry, _Your Worshipfulness.”_

“…you grow less entertaining by the day.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to search for a new toy soon.”

“Go right ahead. You got a house full of ’em.”

“Yet… none of them are quite so foolish as to torture themselves with freezing winds just to carry even colder water back to their den. And all for the sake of something so temporal as ‘art’.”

 _“Excuse me.”_ His nostrils flared for the first time. “This ain’t art, it’s a _craft._ It’s _useful,_ damn it.”

She didn’t bother hiding the grin on her face, and he wisely chose not to call attention to it. They walked a little while longer in a peaceful silence, their only ambience the crash of the waves.

“I’m expecting to use this up by, say…” he paused for a moment. “Probably next week.”

The implication was clear.

“I suppose this goddess _could_ accompany you once more,” she said after a few moments. “If only to laugh at you.”

“Laugh all you like, but you’re gonna be carryin’ a barrel back.”

* * *

_“Master!”_

The male King of Knights pulled the young girl away from the battlefield, her orange hair matted with blood. Kama’s hands balled into fists. It was supposed to be just another material collection mission, and yet that _stupid_ Master…

Her vajra settled into her hand instinctively as she turned her gaze to the group of Jötunn that the others were fending off. Clearly the Servants were unprepared for such a large battle, and though they fought their hardest, they were slowly being pushed back. It angered her to see such pathetic rabble call themselves warriors.

Kama quickly swept past them, scowling as she looked the lead giant in the eye.

_How dare they touch what is mine._

A craggy grin formed on the giant’s face before its massive foot came crashing down towards her. She sidestepped the blow with disdainful ease, then drove her spear deep into the rocky flesh of its heel. Its howl of pain became a roar as she sent mana pulsing through the weapon. When it staggered to one knee, she threw a single blade of light and decapitated it.

She’d barely straightened up when an ice wolf rushed her, jaw open wide. Kama waved a dismissive hand, the beast yowling as a dozen needles of light pierced its hide. It had hardly fallen before her vajra was hurled into the heart of another Jötunn. Before it even hit the ground, she flew up and ripped the spear out, dodging the spurt of blood that erupted.

A full pack of the ice wolves came at her as she fell, but she had no time to deal with them as another Jötunn swung its club at her. A quick motion left allowed her to avoid it, but the numbers began to concern her. If she slipped, even these pathetic creatures would tear her to shreds.

With a clench of her fist, an orb of light coalesced in the same space as the Jötunn’s head. The giant’s skull melted into vapor within a heartbeat, its body crushing two of the wolves as it fell.

Not that she could exploit that victory as the mana flow from Master stuttered in that moment. She gasped and then gritted her teeth, throwing herself back to avoid the snapping jaws of an ice wolf.

_What are those fools doing?_

She glanced down to find them gathered around Master. She was on her own. Again.

_No matter. I have crushed constellations in my hands. There is nothing to fear from clumps of clay and ice._

They might seem endless in number, but that would be no trouble. She would simply have to be more efficient in her attacks. 

Taking to the air, she aimed herself at yet another Jötunn and punched downwards as she flew above it. The blast of energy erupted from her fist, obliterating the creature, and gave her a moment to recall her vajra. The moment it was back in her grasp she unleashed a blast of light to destroy those wolves still circling on the ground.

With every fallen foe, Kama’s breathing grew heavier, and her anger grew colder. She was _not_ tiring, for a goddess does not tire. Her spear blurred in motion around her as the enemies closed in. Their numbers did not matter. She would show those pitiful Chaldeans what their betters could do. 

A roar of fury snapped her head around, just in time for a massive club to come crashing down on her. She readied her vajra to block it, the sun illuminating the silhouette of the giant—

A flash of steel and red cloth. A howl of pain. The giant fell.

“Need some help there, _Mistress?”_

The mess of emotions Kama felt when Muramasa took position just beneath her eventually settled on a smirk. She absently hurled more power, an ice wolf dying with a howl of pain, but she did not turn from facing the other Servant.

“Not in the slightest,” she replied, “but as long as you’re here, you might as well make yourself of use.”

“Why, thank you, _Your Worshipfulness,”_ he drawled. “I’m mighty glad you let me stay.”

Sighing, she slipped back to avoid a swipe of a club, luring the Jötunn to Muramasa. “And you were doing so well, using my proper title.”

“Forgive this old man, if you would.” He smashed his hammer into the giant’s toe to bring it down, then decapitated it with one swipe of his blade. “Formality just ain’t in my nature.”

“But impudence certainly is,” she said, though not without a smile.

To Kama’s surprise, they worked well together. Not seamlessly, of course—he was only a man. But he held up his part well enough. Slash by slash, blast by thundering blast, the enemy slowly fell beneath their combined might. Soon the battlefield was littered with shards of ice and stone, already disappearing under the falling snow. 

She’d noticed that the stream of mana had stabilized as the fight progressed. A glance had shown that Master was already looking better, Nightingale worked with mechanical efficiency as she treated her. Perhaps she, at least, wasn’t entirely worthless after all.

“Contrary to my expectations, your martial skills are passable,” she nodded to the swordsmith as she twirled the spear to rest in the ground. 

“Y’ain’t half bad yourself,” Muramasa nodded back, sheathing his blade. “Your spear could use some work, though.”

She raised a delicate brow, leaning on the shaft. “Oh? What about my spear do you find lacking?”

“Well, for one thing,” he studied the weapon closely, “it looks like someone cut two frogs in half and stuck their legs together. The hell d’you call that thing, anyway?”

“This is an ancient divine weapon known as a _vajra,_ you uncouth brute,” she shot back. 

“Don’t make it look any less stupid.” He furrowed his brow. “I could definitely make something better than that, both in form and in function.”

“You think you could improve on Tvashta’s work? Truly, your arrogance knows no bounds.”

“Yup,” he affirmed. “It’s how I got myself right here next t’you, after all.”

“Haah?” Kama drawled, smirk widening as she leaned towards him. “Looks like the wood on the old tree hasn’t rotted off yet. Or perhaps it is simply your borrowed youth speaking.” She let her fingers splay over her navel, lingering on the skin. “I grant you permission to feast your eyes.”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, princess,” Muramasa said with a roll of his eyes. “Y’ain’t showin’ nothin’ I ain’t seen before.”

“I doubt any of your paramours had quite the same to offer,” she said, grin not falling.

“Whatever you say, _Your Worshipfulness.”_ He folded his hands behind his head and started to make his way back to the group. 

“Did you even remember to take what you came here for?” she asked as she floated alongside him. 

“I already told ya, it’s just some clay,” he said. “No need to be all mysterious or cutesy.”

“So that’s a no, then,” she teased. “Your senility is catching up to you quickly.”

They were drawing closer to the makeshift camp, the rabble preparing for the Rayshift out.

“I woulda come to help ya sooner if I hadn’t been so busy findin’ the good stuff,” he said, blatantly ignoring her comment. “It’s all buried under the riverbeds. Hard to dig up in weather like this.”

“You complained about using impure water, but clay from a land drenched in magic is just fine?”

“Different kinds of magic.” He shrugged. “This is more natural, works better with the steel. The water over there is too artificial to be worth much.”

They stopped in place to allow the Rayshift to commence smoothly. The slight dizziness that accompanied it disoriented her momentarily, but she was used to it and easily exited the coffin. Muramasa, on the other hand, stumbled as he left his. She didn’t bother to hide her little giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled. “Makin’ fun of an old man for his age. How gracious of ya.”

“Be thankful I didn’t trip you as you climbed out,” she said, drifting around him. “It would have made for quite a sight.”

Her gaze idly swept the room until it caught on a figure in nun’s robes. 

_Hm. Been some time since I was afflicted with her company. What does she want now?_

The _other woman_ did nothing but smirk, and after a moment, turned to leave. Kama shrugged.

_I’m sure I’ll hear about it sooner or later._

“That’s it,” Muramasa said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “You’re carryin’ two barrels next time.”

“After I saved your life? Such ingratitude.”

“Dunno about you, but I’m pretty sure I was the one savin’ your behind.”

“Your delusions are charming, but the reality speaks for itself.”

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Lord Buddha, what did I do to deserve this?”

“If you pray to such debased offshoots of my pantheon,” she said with a grin, “you deserve every poor karma that falls upon your thick head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where both Tunko and I knew that we had struck gold. The banter between these two writes itself, you wouldn’t even believe it. They bounce off of each other perfectly in a way that makes me _literally_ giggle in delight. You don’t want to hear me giggle, it’s disturbing. 
> 
> We’ve almost finished the story. Once we write the final chapter, I’ll probably accelerate the publishing speed so that you’re not waiting so long between chapters. This won’t be very long, but I think you will be left satisfied at the end of it. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments below, and remember to like, favorite, and sub—
> 
> …damn it, not again.
> 
> Thank you to **Kat-2V** , even moreso this time because of the scalpel he took to the fight scene. The man is an expert at written combat.
> 
> Your ending theme is [_This is Our Time_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CApfL0c8OwM) by **Miles Malone**.
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Looking up at the glittering starlight should have made Kama smile. She had come to the disused observatory for some silence, a break from the endless noise of the forge. It should also have been a chance to roll over a strange new thought in her mind, one that insisted she didn’t mind the noise at all.

“…and when that sweet little fairy tale offered Scheherazade a box of ginger snaps, she thanked her and tucked it under one arm.”

_If only that infernal woman wasn’t here._

Kiara hid a small laugh behind her sleeve. “Of course, she never did bring herself to try a morsel. The leopard does not so easily change her spots. But that she accepted the box at all, without a murmur of protest, was meaningful. Do you not agree?”

“Why do you continue to pester me so?” Kama sighed, leaning on a fist. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Kiara replied.

“I am not avoiding you,” Kama countered. “I am indifferent to your idles.”

“Then you must not mind my company,” Kiara said with a smile. “Besides that, you make for such a good audience that I simply cannot resist seeking you out.”

Kama turned her gaze back to the stars, hoping that if she did not entertain the other woman with an offended reaction of some kind, she would be left alone to her peace and quiet once more. Sadly, it was not meant to be.

“Did you know that storytelling can be a form of therapy?” said Kiara next to her. “By wrapping one’s troubles in a veneer of fantasy, they become less overwhelming. Allowing Scheherazade to tell the ones she fancies, without expectation or burden, has proven quite helpful.”

“Since when do you practice charity?” Kama asked dryly. 

“Have I not already told you that I’ve turned over a new leaf?” the other woman said, and Kama gritted her teeth.

“Have I not already told _you_ not to lie to me?” she snapped, before catching herself. “Never mind. I shouldn’t even care about your troubles. Why can’t you ever let me just enjoy the silence, cow woman?”

“Because you _don’t.”_

With that, Kama got her precious silence, and it was everything she didn’t want it to be. She _hated_ that the other woman was right. This was an emptiness she hadn’t been prepared for. She struggled to find the right way to respond, before settling on spite.

“You consider your ceaseless babbling a favor to me, is that it? I will not thank you for it.”

“Oh, no need,” laughed Kiara. “I always please myself first. You are simply fortunate enough to benefit as well.”

“I fail to see what benefit this conversation has had at all.”

She heard no response, but she could feel the other woman smirk in an all-knowing fashion. She _hated_ that she could tell that much, and she _hated_ being the recipient of it. Toying with others was her prerogative, and yet, here she was.

_When had things changed like this?_

“I’ve had enough,” she declared, floating away from her resting position and towards the door without so much as a glance backwards. “I hope the stars enjoy you regaling them with whatever nonsense comes to mind.”

She shut the door behind her before the other woman could respond.

Chaldea’s corridors were dimmed at night, though there was still a smattering of staff and Servants. Their footsteps and hushed conversations were a soft hum in the air, the only thing she had to replace the silence of the observatory.

It wasn’t enough.

Kama found herself down a particular passage, one she’d taken many times over the past few weeks. The door looked unremarkable from the outside, but she knew there would be the heat and hammer-falls, and the red glow of worked metal. Muramasa’s forge never closed.

She smiled as she floated in.

The swordsmith didn’t look up immediately, too engrossed in his work. Kama didn’t mind. She liked this particular brand of silence, for it was not silence at all. It was the blacksmith’s ambience. What was once the annoying ring of the anvil simply became the sound of activity, of life. 

She took up a position at the far side of the room, idly picking through his materials. The washi paper was meticulously laid out—a little _too_ meticulously. A smirk crept across her face.

_I wonder how much wax paper I can get away with ‘borrowing’ from the kitchens… and how long it would take for him to notice._

She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

“If you’re thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’,” the swordsmith interrupted her fun, “I’m gonna recommend that you stop thinkin’.”

“Why?” she turned, putting on her best innocent smile. “Whatever do you think I could be thinking?”

“Do you _want_ me to throw this hammer at you?” he glowered. 

She threw her hair back playfully. “You’re no Archer. I doubt your aging eyes could hit me even if I stood still.”

“Ungrateful no-good goddesses,” he grumbled, going back to his work. “Wouldn’t want to waste a good hammer on you, anyway.”

She grinned in victory, but decided to spare him further trouble. Instead, she floated a little distance over his shoulder, resting her chin in her hands. It was loud and smoky in the forge, and its flame was a pale imitation of the starfire that had once danced on Kama’s fingertips.

But the stars were cold and distant now. The flame was here with her, comforting in its warmth and presence. The stars were silent, but the flame crackled in greeting every time she stepped in—like a tight hug after a long day. 

_This is the kind of silence I enjoy—the comfortable kind._

The old man in the youth’s body turned to bring his sword to the forge. He stopped when he spotted her expression.

“You’re smilin’ ‘bout somethin’,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “That always means trouble.”

“Then I suppose you will have to keep your eyes on me, won’t you?” she said, her grin growing wider.

He sighed. “Fine. Get ‘round front so I don’t have t’ break my neck to get a look at ya.”

“Well, if you insist.”

“And get that damn smirk off your face. It’s distractin’.”

“Denied.” 

Her face was starting to hurt from smiling so much.

_What a flimsy mortal shell. But I suppose it will do, if it means I can keep teasing the wolf._

* * *

“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Kama.

Muramasa didn’t falter as he smashed the finished blade into pieces against the anvil. “What’re you squawkin’ ‘bout?” he huffed. “That Rayshiftin’ thing’s expensive, from what I hear, and I don’t like wastin’ my time gettin’ more iron.”

Kama’s eyebrows arched. “You just spent a week hammering and polishing that sword. I _watched_ you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grunted and gathered up the shards to put back into the forge. “It wasn’t good enough.”

“You may be a mere mortal, but your smithing is unquestionably of quality. That sword was fit for a demigod. Just a flick of your wrist, and it cut that leaf down its thinnest edge.” 

“It could slice a thousand leaves, but it’d never reach the spirit.” His sigh was colored in melancholy. “Ain’t good enough.”

She came around his side and forcibly caught his eye. “Why do you _need_ to? What are you chasing after?”

“I thought you already did your readin’,” he said with a wan, mocking smile. 

Her stare grew harder. “The stories tell only of what the fool does and what he causes, but little of his reasoning. How many blades have you done this to?”

He shrugged. “Can’t remember. Lost count a long time ago.”

 _“How?”_ she asked, astonished. “How can you keep doing this, over and over again?”

“I told you already, they ain’t good enough. You deaf or somethin’?”

“This is not simple dissatisfaction over a subpar product, blacksmith.” She folded her arms. “I am certain there are many who would be happy to take your work and put it to good use. You gave that Miyamoto woman a blade, no?”

“Extenuatin’ circumstances,” he said, gathering up the metal pieces onto a long pole and taking them back to the anvil. Before she could say something else, he began hammering away at the metal with far more force than he had used before. She couldn’t speak over the sound of the blows.

_Fine. If he wishes to lose his temper over a simple line of questioning, he can simmer in that as long as he wants. Perhaps I may accept his apology if he does so on his knees._

But no apology came. The minutes dragged on, broken only by the clanging hammer and Kama’s growing irritation. She was just considering snatching the tool away when the door to the forge opened wide, letting in a blast of cool air.

“Whew!” called a cheerful voice, and Kama frowned when she spotted the shock of pink hair and the gaudy purple and scarlet clothes of the Miyamoto woman. As with far too many people in this icy little rock, simply calling her name seemed to summon her.

The newcomer’s gaze swept by Kama to focus on the busy smith. “Hey Gramps!” she called, then stepped closer when he didn’t respond. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she tried again. “ _Gramps!_ ”

“The hell you doin’, shoutin’ in my forge?” he said at last. He pivoted to face her, still holding the glowing metal in his tongs. “I already told you, kid, I ain’t gonna fight you. What is it with people not listenin’ today?”

The samurai only grinned. “That’s okay! I’m just here to hang out.”

“Here to get in the way, you mean,” he grumbled, then briefly glanced over at Kama. “Fine. You can go stand over there with the lady.”

Miyamoto’s smile momentarily fell when she followed his gaze, replaced by a cautious expression as she looked over Kama’s floating form. The goddess’ lip curled up in contempt.

_Back away, mortal. Shy away from the enemy in your midst._

That was fine. Kama didn’t need the company of stray dogs, _including_ the cranky old mastiff at the anvil. She only remained to await his apology. She wanted to see the moment the realization would wash over him at how he had wronged her.

Then, to her astonishment, the samurai’s brow lifted. “Sounds good,” she said, circling the forge to come stand by Kama’s side. Another silence passed, broken by more hammer blows and the tapping of the woman’s foot, before she turned and smiled at Kama. 

“So… you come here often?”

Kama blinked in surprise, then raised her chin to a haughty angle. “I did not grant you permission to be so familiar with me,” she sniffed. “And your propositioning is atrocious.”

The samurai burst out laughing, a merry sound that made Kama frown. It certainly didn’t make her mouth quirk upwards.

“Sorry, force of habit!” said Miyamoto, raising her hands in an appeasing gesture. “You can’t blame a girl for trying, though. You’re pretty hot.”

“Hmph.” Kama’s chin raised higher. She was used to such compliments, each falling flatter than the last. Base lifeforms responding to the inevitable call of primal lust, irresistibly drawn to the goddess that embodied it. 

And now that the samurai had been turned down, she’d go back to ignoring Kama— 

“So when’s the last time he stepped out of here, anyway?” asked Miyamoto, slouching against the wall. Kama stared at her a shade too long before snapping her head back up.

“How would I know?” she grumbled. “I’m not his keeper.”

“Too bad,” smiled Miyamoto. “He could really use one. What would happen if he fell over, with no one to help him up?”

“I heard that!” yelled the blacksmith.

“Oh good,” beamed the samurai, “then you can tell me what happened to that blade you were working on the other day.” She gave a low whistle of appreciation. “It was a real beauty.”

“He melted it down.” Kama’s smile was sharp with spite. “For raw materials.”

To her disappointment, the samurai only shook her head wistfully. “Yeah, he does that. It’s a shame, but it’s no good trying to talk a master smith out of their habits.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Not unless you want your next blade to snap at the first stiff wind.”

“I _don’t_ do shoddy work.” For the first time since the samurai invited herself inside, the hammer fell silent. For the first time since Kama had met him, Muramasa’s normal glower turned downright offended. “I don’t care if it’s for a stupid country brat or some loud-mouthed emperor.”

“And yet you care nothing for what happens to them,” said Kama, crossing her arms. “To the point that you’d melt them down.”

“Once they leave my forge, it ain’t my concern where they end up,” shrugged Muramasa as he reached for his waterskin. “But they’re all good blades.”

“Oh? You really don’t care who uses them?” smiled Miyamoto, scratching her chin in mock thought. “Nobu was just saying she needed another sword—”

Muramasa abruptly pulled the water away from his lips and glared at her. “Yeah, even that brat.” He sighed as he put the skin aside. “Be a damn waste, though. She’d only pose with it while she fired off those ear-splittin’ guns of hers. No appreciation for a fine edge.”

“Not like you,” said Kama, staring at the glowing metal on his anvil. 

“I’ve been doin’ this my whole life, lady,” he said, reaching for his hammer again.

“And you still haven’t answered _why_.” Kama stared hard at the back of his head, and felt a small surge of satisfaction when he shifted under it.

“You just don’t know how t’drop it, do ya?” The blacksmith sighed. “You ain’t gonna like the answer.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She waved a hand and smirked. “Your misfortunes are entertaining, if nothing else.”

He glared at her momentarily before turning back to the anvil, but he didn’t begin to hammer again. “Fine. Have a sob story, free of charge. Never had no wife, no kid. Parents died while I was young, and I was raised by a swordsmith you’ve never heard of. Not only did he teach me what he knew, but he gave me his dream: a blade that cuts spirits rather than skin.”

He sighed. “I buried him when I was 20 in an unmarked grave, near a village long gone. Doesn’t matter now. All I want is to see that dream come true. Wanna make him happy, wherever the hell he is.”

“And what about you?” Kama pressed. “Is this making you happy? This endless cycle that you continue feeding even after you yourself were buried?”

He gave a humorless laugh. “‘course not. But I don’t have anything else. Nothing ever called to me like the forge did. So I keep coming back and I keep trying again, until I die a second time or I succeed.”

Kama pursed her lips. “Reincarnation without memory is the mercy offered to mortals, you know. Spurning it to break yourself on a fool’s fancy… you really must love to suffer.”

“Guess so,” he said, picking up a hammer and turning it over in his hands. “You can laugh now, lady. Knock yerself out.”

“I don’t think it’s something to laugh at,” Miyamoto interjected. Kama had forgotten that the swordswoman was there. “But she has a point. You have a second chance here. Why not do something different with it?”

“Because it don’t feel right to leave a job unfinished,” he said, gripping the hammer tight. “And you ain’t much one to talk, kid. What’s all that about looking for Void and stuff?”

Miyamoto gave a thin smile. “I’m not just focused on that, though. I enjoy every bit of life that I can in between. If you stay cooped up in here all the time, you’ll forget what the sun looks like.”

“Think I care what the sun looks like?” he grumbled. “It can turn into a nue for all I care.”

The samurai pushed back with a rejoinder, but Kama didn’t hear it. She was looking at the smith’s face, rigid with tension as he snapped and glowered at the swordswoman. There was a shadow in his amber eyes—one that, sight constrained by her human vessel, she couldn’t quite put a name to.

Kama didn’t like it. This Muramasa was far less fun than the sharp-tongued curmudgeon that parried each of her barbs and riposted in turn. 

“I’ve wasted enough time here,” she declared, drawing herself up. “You two can squabble among yourselves.”

Ignoring the gazes turned in her direction, Kama drifted towards the exit. A goddess did not care what a mortal smith, however talented, chose to do with his time. Let the arrogant man break himself on his anvil alongside his blades. 

That conviction didn’t blot out the image of his wry smile, the one that made Kama laugh whenever she got the best of him. She wanted to see it again. 

Tightening her jaw, she set out for the quarters she hadn’t bothered visiting in more than two weeks. The box was exactly where she’d left it, abandoned in the corner.

She flipped it open and ran a hand over its contents. 

_Just you wait, old man._

* * *

Muramasa sighed and set the glowing bar down on the anvil. Nobody had come to see him today, and that was just fine. Not the kid with her nagging about udon and hot springs, not the red-haired girl with the seals and the too-bright smile. Not even the pretty goddess with the smart-ass tongue.

 _Just fine_.

He struck the hammer down, and tried not to think about how loudly it echoed in the empty forge. If she’d found company somewhere else, good for her. Maybe pushing the kid on her a bit had worked, helped smooth out some of the thorns she wrapped herself in. Maybe her eyes would look a little less lonely next time she drifted into his forge.

 _If there’s a next time_.

Shrugging the thought away, he bent back over his work. Hot metal, hissing steam, and steel. Always steel, waiting to be given form by his hammer. Never getting where he needed it to go, always a tiny breath away from the perfection he saw in his mind’s eye.

That didn’t bother him. He’d keep going until he got it right. This life, and the next too. Every damn spoke on the wheel of reincarnation, if that’s what it took.

“Least she could do is come smirk at me about it,” he grumbled. “That’s the problem with all of ’em these days. They all got the attention span of a gnat—”

His next blow split the bar in half. Muramasa frowned and lowered his hammer. No good, a split in that place would ruin the integrity of the blade. That little lapse in attention would cost him another several hours re-melting and hammering.

He went to put the bar back into the fire, then scowled at the flickering flame. ‘Course it had decided to ebb low, just when he needed it. Sighing, he turned towards the coal pile just as the door opened wide.

“Shut the door!” he yelled. “I’m tryin’ to build up heat here. You wanna bring all the snow in while you’re at it?”

“Are you so attached to your fire that the mere touch of frost terrifies you?” 

He didn’t want to admit it, but hearing that goddess talk down to him was comfortable in its familiarity. The forge didn’t seem so empty anymore. 

“Oh. S’just you.” He motioned towards the coal. “Make yourself useful and throw a few chunks in, then.”

“Once again, your insolence knows no bounds,” Kama sighed, drifting into her accustomed corner. “Do you need eyeglasses? Can you not see what I carry?”

He looked down from the deep red of her eyes, and finally noticed the bundle of shining white strands in her arms. 

“Fancy,” he grunted. “And you’re bringing it in here? Don’t blame me if it ends up covered in soot, lady.”

“Your concern is touching, but this is divine silk from Dandakaranya. It is impervious to petty blemishments.” 

He smirked. “So you wouldn’t mind if I wiped my hands on it, would ya? Just to test its quality.”

“Don’t you dare!” she snapped, drawing the silk protectively to her breast. Then she took a deep breath. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. I did put pearls before a swine.”

The familiar haughty smile flashed across her face, and Murasama nodded. Good. That smile suited her.

Repressing one of his own, he added coal to the fire and watched it roar to life. “Really though. Why’d you bring it here?”

He glanced back to find the goddess floating in the air in a sitting position, the silk strands draped over her lap. They shone like sea foam in the gloom of the forge.

“I know better than to try and pull a fool from his folly,” she said as she began wrapping the silk around a silver spindle. “But I suppose I can keep you company until you realize the futility of your endeavor.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said with faux astonishment, “turns out you’re quite the considerate goddess, ain’t’cha?”

“You may present your offerings to me now,” she shot back. “I will accept nothing but your finest.”

“Then get comfortable, because an offerin’ like that ain’t comin’ for a while.” 

She only smirked. “The longer you take, the more I will expect.” She leaned forward towards him, red eyes shining. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint me.”

Muramasa snorted. “Lady, I’ve been disappointin’ folks my whole life.” A small smile curved his lips. “But never with my work.”

Seemingly satisfied, the goddess settled herself and tugged the silk onto the spindle with a feather touch. Though he’d never touched so much as a strand, Muramasa could recognize the practiced motions of a true expert.

 _Expect nothing less from a goddess, I guess._ He swung the hammer and smiled. _But she ain’t gonna leave me behind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to **TungstenCat** for her continued coauthorship and thanks to **Kat-2V** for his editing work.
> 
> Your ending theme is [_The Ascendent: The Beginning And_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yaGDt4Sq4cI) by **Roomful of Teeth**.
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t a sword.

Muramasa hadn’t said anything, but Kama knew. His hammer blows were just a hair too hesitant. The rhythm of his smithing, so familiar that she could sing its song in her sleep, was off-beat.

She bit her lip as the hammer fell again on the heated metal. The infernal man would never say if anything was bothering him. She would have to draw it out of him. 

Putting on her most insolent smirk, she drifted closer until he had no choice but to notice her at his side. “Your arm is lacking today, blacksmith.”

He grunted.

“Or is it that my beauty is just too distracting?” she teased, flipping her hair over one shoulder. 

“As if,” he grumbled, not pausing in his work. “You ain’t nothing new at this point, sweetheart, keepin’ that chest on display all the time.”

Her smirk widened as she thrust it forward for his benefit. “So you finally bow to your baser instincts. Go ahead, then.”

The man didn’t so much as glance her way. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

“I speak only the truth. I am a goddess, after all,” she said, smugly crossing her arms. Then the hammer stopped entirely as the man looked the piece over, and Kama felt a small sliver of ice in her belly. “Speak plainly. Are you well?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, his expression puzzled.

“The wyvern hurt your shoulder pretty badly during the last excursion. Is that the cause of your fatigue?”

He snorted. “Ain’t no overgrown lizard gonna put out my arm, and this ain’t fatigue.” Huffing at the metal, he put it back in the fire and wiped his hands before turning to her. “I’m tryin’ something new, that’s all.”

“Oh? Did I inspire you?”

“Always gotta make it about yourself, don’tcha?” he said, though his brows softened the merest fraction. “You’ll see.”

That wasn’t a denial, which from this man might as well have been a signed confession. Pleasure bloomed in Kama’s chest at the thought that she had inspired him to a new passion. His movements might be a little slower, but they were filled with potential. 

Smiling, she reached for the silk cloth she’d put aside, finally complete after weeks of spinning. Some of that same potential shone from its fine threads. It would be a pity not to coax it forth. Kama had been idly considering several possibilities to keep her hands busy while she soaked up the heat and company, but now they began to coalesce.

“I look forward to it.”

* * *

Muramasa’s hand paused in mid-knock. This was goddamned ridiculous. He wasn’t some country boy bringing a fistful of stolen flowers to his girl. So why did his chest feel tight?

_ Am I finally having a heart attack? _

He shook his head. If she didn’t like the gift, that was fine. He’d just keep trying until he got it right.

_ ‘Cause that’s worked so well for the swords. _

Steeling himself, he knocked on the door, and a few heartbeats later it slowly hissed open. Red eyes glared out suspiciously at him, before Kama’s face relaxed as recognition dawned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Decided to take a stroll and thought I’d drop by.” He shrugged.

“You  _ never _ just ‘take a stroll’,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Be frank with me.”

An awful impulse came to mind that he’d have crushed for anyone else. But for her…

“How can I be Frank?” he asked. “I’m Sengo.”

She paused. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

He smiled. “Can I come in?”

“Only if you promise to never again commit another atrocity of that nature.”

“I’ll think about it.”

She groaned but floated aside to let him in. “Next time you do something like that, I will curse your bloodline for a thousand generations.”

“Good thing it died with me, then,” he said cheerfully. 

“Or maybe I’ll just pour them all out on your fat head.”

“You really do say the sweetest things.”

It was the standard Chaldea quarters, remarkable only for how lifeless everything looked. Even the strictest Servant collected little trinkets during their stay, if only favorite cups or record books. Kama’s room looked as untouched as if she had just moved in. Even the bed had a fine layer of dust.

Muramasa gave a low whistle as he looked around. “Sure feels comfy.”

“Your sarcasm falls on unfriendly ears,” she grumbled. “This room isn’t fit for a stablehand, let alone a goddess.”

Her face wore its usual mask of indifference, but there was a touch of melancholy in the cast of her shoulders. Something was bothering her again. His mouth was halfway open before he snapped it shut. It wasn’t his business to pry. 

But at least he could draw her away from it.

“Stablehand, huh?” he said, rubbing his chin in consideration. “So you won’t mind if I store my stuff in here. Could always use a few more barrels of coal.”

Kama’s eyes turned sharply to him, before they brightened in amusement. “By all means, you may bring as many as you wish. I shall be most pleased to give them away.”

He recoiled. “Say what now?”

“I am a  _ very _ generous goddess,” she said, giving him her most charming smile. “If that steam-obsessed tinkerer came by asking for fuel, how could I deny him?”

“You,  _ generous _ ?” he said incredulously. 

“It’s in my nature, you know.”

“So bake ‘em cookies! Don’t touch my stuff!”

“Then it’s simple, isn’t it? Keep your things out of my room—beginning with this.”

“Huh?”

Her hands closed with a clap. When she pulled them apart again, shimmering cloth billowed in the wake of her fingers. His jaw dropped. The look on his face must have been priceless.

_ Damn. That’s one nice haori. _

“Now you have nothing to complain about when I wear your offering,” she said smugly.

Muramasa found himself too taken aback to reply. He had always been duly compensated for his commissioned work, generously so at times. Occasionally it was even in the form of extravagant clothing and valuables. But such items were always transactional in nature—payment for services rendered, goods produced, or bribes for apprentices unaccepted. But it had been a long time since…

“Is this… for me?” he asked slowly.

“Whom else do you see here?” she replied. 

A long time since he had been freely gifted something _. _ A gift with no strings attached. A gift not for Muramasa the smith, but for Sengo the man. It hit him harder than he expected. He took a deep breath.

“Thank you.” His voice felt thick. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t give this to you because of your wordcrafting,” she said, holding it out. “Consider yourself honored, as I bestow upon you the title of my first mortal friend.”

Still speechless, he slowly pulled it on, tying it with a gentle touch. He couldn’t help himself—it was so soft that he thought he might accidentally break it with too hard a pull.

“Do you have so little faith in my skills?” she asked playfully. “A single strand could support a herd of elephants, you know.”

He barely managed to keep his voice steady as he attempted to reclaim their usual mood. “Guess I’ll bring it on my next jungle hop, then.” Her knowing look tore away any pretense of banter. “In all seriousness… thank you. This is the nicest thing someone’s done for me in a long while.”

_ Maybe ever. _

Her mouth softened into a smile. “You’re welcome.”

They stood there for a few moments in a comfortable silence. Then Muramasa ran a hand down the smooth length of the haori’s collar. The cloth glimmered, but not as much as the hair that Kama absently ran her hand through as she watched him. He wondered if it felt as soft as her creation.

“C’mere for a sec,” he said. 

She tilted her head but floated down beside him. As she came close, he reached out and took a strand of her hair in his hand. It was silvery-white and wonderfully soft, shimmering between his fingers like a rainbow in the sun. For a second, it seemed like she was actually leaning into the touch. Then the moment passed and she moved away again, taking the strand with her.

“I-I understand that you are instinctively drawn to my perfection,” she said, glancing away as she tucked the strand behind her ear, “but you are getting coal dust all over my hair.”

Despite her words, he could see the smile in the corner of her mouth. The sight helped him find their usual rhythm.

“Well, excuse me _ , _ Your Worshipfulness,” he drawled. “I  _ did _ wash my hands very recently, you know.”

She snorted. “In this context, recently should not refer to last month.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” He reached out and ruffled her hair, eliciting an indignant cry from her. “Well, now that it’s messed up, you don’t gotta worry so much.”

She bat his hand away. “You are the  _ worst, _ you know that?”

“I try my best.” He made another attempt to tussle her hair, but her defense was ironclad. “Aww.”

“Why do I even put up with you?” she sighed and crossed her arms.

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Uh… would a bribe help?”

Before she could answer, he held out his hands and let the spear he’d been sweating over for a week materialize. Gripping it tightly, he attempted that fancy spin he’d seen her do a few times and ended up smacking himself in the shin. 

_ “Son of a—” _

Kama didn’t hide her laugh, loud and smoky. 

“Sure, laugh up the old man tryna do a nice thing,” he grumbled. 

She grinned at him. “Is that your idea of wielding a spear?”

“Just ‘cause I make ‘em don’t mean I can use ‘em.”

She took it from his hands and turned it over. He didn’t like the tension that curled in his stomach as she tested its weight. 

“Is this supposed to replace my vajra?” she asked at last.

“Yup. So you don’t have to use no stupid-frog-leg crap no more.”

Irritation flashed in her eyes, before they turned sly. “I suppose it could make a serviceable arrow.”

_ “Don’t you dare!”  _ he growled. 

“What? Swords and spears can make perfectly good arrows, you know.”

He let out an angry huff. “You’re as bad as that Nobunaga.”

“No,” she said with a grin. “I’m  _ far _ worse.”

“Ugh.” He sighed and fell onto the bed, putting his head in his hands. “You’re killin’ me here.”

“There, there.” She patted him on the back a few times, then drifted away. He glanced up to see her opening one of the scarce boxes placed against the wall. 

“Here,” she called over her shoulder, “why don’t you make yourself useful?”

“What, you got some crap to haul?” he said drily. But when she returned and settled next to him, there was a hairbrush in her outstretched hand.

“Nothing so crude,” she said with a smirk. “There are more productive ways to repent for your insolence.”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” he said, tugging a strand out of his scalp. “Lady, look at this hair. You think I know anythin’?”

“I’m sure you can be trained.” Dripping smugness, she placed the brush in his hand. “If you can make a thousand blades, surely a simple brush shouldn’t frighten you.”

Before he could argue further, she turned her back to him. Her silver locks cascaded down like a long waterfall, and he had just learned how soft they were. 

_ Eh. Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks. _

Muramasa took a handful at the midpoint of the length and slowly brushed down, careful not to pull too hard. It felt even nicer than just running it through his hands. The small purr he heard was unexpected but welcome. It told him the feeling was mutual.

The next few minutes passed comfortably, even with few words exchanged. Kama held the spear in her lap quietly while he brushed and tugged. He took his sweet time, even though the hair was  _ clearly _ perfect before he had even begun. She asked him to do this, so she couldn’t complain if he spent longer just because it felt nice. Still, as much as he enjoyed working on the longer strands, his inner craftsman insisted he have a go at those bangs up front too. 

That it would give him another look at her pretty red eyes was a bonus.

She didn’t look up as he slid around her for a better angle. Her gaze stayed fixed on the spear with a curious intensity. Frowning, he reached to move her bangs aside for a better look, but stopped when he saw the shadowed expression on her face. He didn’t think it was about the brushing—she had something on her mind again.

_ Might be the same as before. _

Again, the desire to ask bubbled up in his throat. Again, he swallowed it in favor of pulling her away from her troubles.

“Y’know,” he said teasingly, “This stuff would look great as a tassel on a blade. Mind if I take some?”

Her head snapped up, the shadow banished in favor of good, healthy anger.

“I’m going to murder you, blacksmith.”

* * *

The small annoyance Muramasa induced didn’t stop Kama from returning to the forge the next day. Of course, only once she’d made sure he was off pestering their Master about excursions to gather bits of iron and sundry.

Smirking, she drifted over to the anvil and smoothed away the last traces of coal dust. Then she placed the braid on its surface, imagining the look on his face when he discovered it.

The nagging thought that had dogged her since yesterday crossed her mind once more. The hair he had so enjoyed handling might prove another distraction from his dream—the spear had been bad enough, as much she liked it. But it was easily banished. Kama was a creature of passion, certainly not one to stymie her whims.

_ I’m only disappointed that I won’t be there to see him splutter. _

When she returned later, however, all Kama could feel was shock. 

“You put my hair  _ in  _ the blade?” She searched his face for a smirk, a twitch, any sign he was joking. “Forged into the metal itself? What were you  _ thinking!?” _

“It’s divine hair.” Muramasa crossed his arms. “Just the thing to get the ultimate edge, maybe.”

Kama glared at him. The infuriating man didn’t have the decency to look even a little sheepish.

“Hey, you gave it to a swordsmith. What’d you expect?”

“For you to treat such a rare token with a little respect!” she growled, resisting the urge to jab a finger in his face. “You should have lovingly kept it on your pillow, so you could think of my favor upon waking each day!” 

Even as she said it, a shiver ran down her back. She was making him tread a fine line between passion and obsession. And with obsession… came…

She shuddered and glanced up only to find him smirking. Was he… holding back a laugh?

Her mouth twisted in annoyance. “If you had  _ ever  _ dreamt of hosting me in your bed, you might as well throw those fantasies into your forge as well. I hope you like continuing to sleep alone.”

He shrugged. “Sounds like a you problem.”

_ At least his fire remains undimmed. _

Perhaps she didn’t need to be concerned. She didn’t  _ want _ to be concerned.

“I see.” She sniffed, holding up the covered dish she’d brought from the kitchen. “Then it’s not your problem if I eat this salmon roe sushi all by myself.”

“You got that right,” he nodded, turning back to his anvil.

A lovely façade of indifference. How unfortunate for him that Kama had learned his measure, and knew to keep a firm grip on the dish. When he abruptly turned around to snatch it, she floated just high enough to playfully keep it out of his reach.

“Come now, really?” she asked. 

“…my foot slipped.”

“How clumsy of you. Should I expect to see you break your thumb with your next hammer strike?”

“Nah. Might get yours, though.”

“You can certainly try, though my doubts about your aim are unchanged.”

He only grumbled under his breath, and she smirked in victory. Her mood improved, she decided to be gracious.

“Don’t pout so,” she said, lowering the plate to within his reach. “Though you may not have earned it, I am a benevolent goddess— _ don’t you dare laugh—” _

“Didn’t earn it, huh?” he said, a smile gently stretching across his lips. “Then how’s about a trade?”

She watched in surprise as he took down a small silk bag from where it was hanging next to his water flask. He held it with surprising delicacy before placing it in her palm. Brow furrowed, she put the plate aside and tugged open the string. A sweet floral scent hit her nose.

“Are these…?” she asked, trying and failing to hold back her delight.

“Can’t imagine why you’d want to  _ eat  _ flowers ‘stead of lookin’ at them, but here you go. Candied violets.” He scratched at his cheek. “Ain’t that what you like?”

Yes, and it had been… she couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d crunched the sugary petals under her teeth. Still, she was sure she had never mentioned it— 

Realization dawned. “The other day, when the little book was gathering sweets for her tedious social gathering. You were listening?”

“You could do with bein’ a bit nicer to the kids, y’know.”

“I refrained from insulting them—that’s the most they deserve,” she said, looking at the white frosting on the crystallized flowers. “…but you remembered.” 

_ There is a fine line between passion and obsession. And from obsession… corruption. _

Her throat felt dry as she raised her head. “You really are under my spell, aren’t you?” she murmured.

“You’re one to talk, lady,” he drawled, not noticing her change of mood. “When’d I mention ikura don?”

_ No. I will not be concerned. _

She forced a smirk to her lips. “Oh please. I needed only to see you drool like a starving cur over that samurai’s portion the last time she decided to treat your anvil as her dinner table.”

“So what does that make you, Miss ‘I Just Gave My Hair To The Starvin’ Dog’?” he said with a far more genuine smugness.

The truth slapped her hard enough to make her recoil _. _ It was impossible to deny it when he’d just reminded her of what he was doing. This was no longer the work of an artisan purely pursuing a dream. Muramasa was  _ worshipping _ her. By putting pieces of her—and the demon lurking in her soul—in his blades, he was slowly abandoning his wish. Sacrificing the ambition of multiple lifetimes to her altar.

_ It makes me a fool. _

“Here, give me that plate,” she said, and grabbed the sushi tray. 

“What?! I ain’t even touched it!” he cried. 

“Y-You don’t need to eat anyway.” She quickly gathered herself before the crack in her voice got any worse. “It would be wasteful.”

Her fingers closed on the ceramic. He didn’t resist as she pulled it away, uneaten sushi and all. She moved hastily towards the exit, but couldn’t help one last glance over her shoulder. He stared at her in shock, even a small trace of hurt in his eyes. 

Kama turned forward and left before he could say anything else. For a moment, she had almost forgotten her nature, and what she did to mortals who fell under her starlight. It was so easy to forget in the warm glow of his eyes.

_ I’ve let my guard down too much. I have to cut this off  _ now _ before disaster strikes.  _

That didn’t make the growing pain in her heart any easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst? In my Pallan Minerva/TungstenCat collaboration fic? It’s more likely than you think. 
> 
> In all seriousness, I really tried, but I needed a small conflict to push them over the edge from friends to something more. And, after great consultation and lots of pondering, this fit the characters best. I swear to you on my father’s grave that it will be closed neatly next chapter, and that you will (hopefully) be very happy. 
> 
> Thank you to both **Exstarsis** and **Kat-2V** for giving the chapter a look over, and of course, uh, ‘big ups’ to **TungstenCat** for still working with me on this even though I end up foisting more than half of the writing onto her SHUT UP TUNKO I CAN HEAR YOU FROM HERE
> 
> Your ending theme today is… well, it’s a piano improvisation I made about a year ago completely unrelated to any of my writing. I searched through my library a lot to find a tone that I was trying to hit, but none of the songs I had were working. It ended up that this little thing I recorded hit what I wanted to hit, so… I hope you enjoy it. It’s a bit messy and more than a bit repetitive, but I think it sounds okay. It’s called _Accusation of Fidelity,_ and [here’s](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Jqh31kLHK0Dccus4_PPpWxFl4aN0FC-S/view?usp=sharing) a Google Drive link to it.
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

Muramasa scowled at the blade resting on his anvil. It needed three minutes to cool before he could start filing off the hammer marks. Three empty minutes during which he had nothing to do but think.

_ She’s been avoiding me. _

Kama wasn’t a constant presence in his forge. Though over time she had come more often, she did not live in the forge with him. She was more like a stray cat that kept wandering in because he kept feeding her—though it was more feeding her company than food. She could stay for hours on end, or not come at all for a day or two. Time apart was not entirely uncommon.

But this felt different.

Not only had she not been coming around, but every time he had managed to corner her, she made an excuse to leave. He might have understood if the teasing had become too much, or she’d simply lost interest in a man that did little else but smelt and smith. That wasn’t the feeling he got from her, though. Her snooty dismissals always came a little too late, as if she had to remember to slam the door closed on him. 

Something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite tell what.

He picked up the file and got to work.

Shhhhk.

_ Women are so damn hard to read. _

Shhhhhhhhk.

_ Scratch that, it’s  _ people _ that are so damn hard to read. _

Shhhhhhhhhhk.

_ Shoulda stuck to swords, Sengo. _

The door swung open, and for a moment, a spark of hope lit in his chest. But he found no lotuses, only white robes and yellow eyes. The disappointment that snuffed out the spark quickly turned into realization.

_ …that’s right. Swords just don’t cut it anymore. Idiot. _

He chuckled.

“Oh my,” said Kiara Sessyoin, coming closer. “What could be so amusing?”

“You,” he said bluntly, letting the lie cover his self-deprecation. He went back to filing as she drifted over, gliding almost as smoothly as the  _ other one _ did. The reminder brought an ache of loneliness with it, slowing his filing. It lingered deep in his bones, even as Kiara slipped into his personal space as if she already owned it. Hopefully neither would stay long.

“I did not realize my mere presence was enough to engender humor.” She patted her head and smiled. “Is it my hair?” 

_ Silver locks in his hands, shining like dazzling stars— _

“Or is it the horns?” Her smirk grew. “I’m told they’re very amusing, as I am quite…” She ran a delicate finger under her chin. “…horny.”

“I think I just felt a rib crack,” he said dryly. “If you’re lookin’ for Kama, she ain’t here.”

Her name tasted strange on his tongue. For all the times she’d hung around in his forge, he’d rarely used it. It was always “lady”, “sweetheart”, or “Your Worshipfulness”. He missed it.

“Not exactly,” said Kiara, walking around him. “I came to talk about her, in fact.”

“If you wanted to bitch about her, you might be better off with Parvati,” he said.

“Mmm… she does make excellent honey cakes. Have you ever tried one?” She laughed at his growing scowl, then waved a hand. “Ah, but this concerns you far more than it does her.”

_ That _ raised his eyebrow.

“Out with it, then. Whaddya want?”

She stared at him for a few moments, running her eyes over his body. 

“Kama and I are connected. Something like sisters, one could say. Though she holds no warm feelings for me, I…” Her expression grew wistful. “I suppose I see something of myself in her.”

Muramasa shrugged. “Not sure about that. She’s definitely got a better rack.”

Her smile grew. “I can see how you charmed her.”

“Eh? The heck you talkin’ about?”

“Don’t play the fool. I know you see it as well as I do.”

Muramasa paused in his filing again. He didn’t need to think over it too hard. 

“Shit.”

“Charming, indeed.” She hid a giggle behind her sleeve, but her expression quickly turned serious. “You see the problem. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

“She’s the goddess, ain’t she? I don’t think—”

“I disagree,” she interrupted. “You’re thinking too much.”

Muramasa snapped his jaw closed and glared at her, but his heart wasn’t in it. It was with another. 

“Put aside all context for a moment,” she said, running a finger over the file. “You are a man, and here she is a woman. There exists not only potential but genuine interest on behalf of both parties.”

The finger slid along the blade and brushed against his calloused hands as she came behind him to whisper in his ears. “Is this a chance you’re willing to give up on?”

Muramasa did not flinch. He had grown used to that kind of teasing. Hard not to when the other person strutted around with most of her skin exposed. “I’m just a swordsmith, lady. Love ain’t gonna replace good iron. If she don’t want it, I ain’t gonna chase her.”

“Look with your  _ eyes.” _ He did not stop her as she gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. “She  _ desires _ you, but she runs away because she is afraid of hurting you and being hurt. She sees herself as the devouring sun with which you will blind yourself. If you let her go, you will not be the only one to suffer.”

She released him and took a step back. “If you care nothing for yourself, then will you at least spare a thought for her?”

He chewed his lip, and brought his gaze back down to the blade.  _ Ain’t right. Just ain’t right. Came out a bit too brittle. Is it even worth engraving…? _

A cold draft drew his head up again. Kiara stood in the doorway, hand brushing against the frame lovingly.

“She awaits you in the arboretum. Don’t disappoint her.”

And she was gone.

Muramasa picked up the file again.  _ Welp… those marks ain’t takin’ themselves out. _

As he returned to his work, he mulled over her words. He’d seen more than one blood-soaked veteran vanish on his village girl because he couldn’t bear the thought of tainting her with his past. More than one woman gone spinster rather than bring her family feuds to her beloved’s door. Many had come to seek his advice, being one of the elders in his village. He’d always given it freely, but in the end, it was their responsibility to take action on it. It wasn’t his problem that they rarely did. 

He never chased anyone down—he had swords to forge.

Shhhhhk.

When the oncoming tragedy threatened to turn into a disaster, he’d occasionally felt a desire to intervene. To hog-tie them together until they finally talked their issues out. But he never did. It wasn’t his business. He was just a swordsmith.

Shhhhhhhhhhk.

Except… this time, it  _ was _ his business. He’d be a damn fool not to take the advice he’d always wanted to yell at others. Kama might’ve been a goddess, but she was also a person with human failings and human fears. Why not go try to talk? If she didn’t want him around, she’d say so. And if she said it, he wouldn’t stick around. 

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhk.

_ I  _ really _ shoulda just stuck to swords. _

The file was set aside. He blew out a breath and slowly stood up.

“Well, ain’t nothin’ for it. Might as well get my head chewed off now instead of waitin’ for it.”

* * *

Kama scowled as the mother jay fluttered to its nest. The waiting chicks eagerly opened their beaks to receive love in the form of nourishment.

_ How abhorrent. _

She turned away in disgust. As pretty as it was, the bird was fake. Just one of Chaldea’s automata, created to populate the manicured forest that the mortals used to soothe their nerves. Trapped in machinery and rock all day, the human animal craved green leaves and birdsong. For most, this was enough. For her, and for a few other Servants, it was an abomination.

She drifted another inch, still not touching the ground.

There was no  _ true  _ love here. Only rote perfection in the way the jay’s head dipped, and the chicks rose to meet it. Precise as clockwork, and just as cold. No passion, no life—just machines acting out their programming.

It lacked the sacred chemistry between souls. The pulse of life that drove green sap through the plants in the spring, kept the young soldier waiting for the letter from his sweetheart, or swung the blacksmith’s hammer far into the night—

_ Stop it. I refuse to think about forges, or anvils, or smiths. My mind encompasses the entire universe—to limit this perception to a single smithy is pathetic. _

Her heavy sigh echoed among the branches.

“I’m pathetic,” Kama muttered and tightened the haori.

To be a goddess of love was also to be a goddess of loss, of heartache, of tragedy. She had known it through her worshippers, she had tasted it vicariously, and she had even felt some of it herself. But no matter how familiar it became, the pain never dulled. 

_ I don’t want him to feel this pain _ . She picked at the grass by her side.  _ To lose the dream he chased so long, because he cannot look away from me. Because my poison has leached so deeply into his soul. _

Her jaw tightened.

_ I really am the worst. _

Because she  _ wanted  _ him to keep looking at her. He  _ saw _ her the way she wanted to be seen—not just her divine beauty and virtues, but her flaws, her  _ failures _ . As she saw his and still wanted to hold him close.

_ How selfish. How human. _

She was supposed to be better than that. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how many pieces her heart shattered into, she  _ had  _ to be better than that.

_ I just… need a little more time, and a little more distance. He’s so attached to his forge, there’s no way he’d come looking for me. _

But he brought the spear.

_ A show of pride. He found my vajra lacking and he wanted to show how much better he was. _

He could have waited for you to come to his forge, but he sought you out.

_ Shut up. The decision has already been made. Leave me in peace. _

It’s never too late to change your mind. You can still reach for happiness.

_ Enough! _

The human voice finally quieted, and she had her peace. That artificial peace among the avian machinery and the manicured trees. The solitude should have been comforting, even if only in some small way, but it wasn’t the forge. It wasn’t  _ him. _

It always came back to him.

_ Damn that idiot. He should have looked through me, like the rest of them. But no—he just  _ had _ to see me,  _ had _ to look at me and let me be there with him without demands. Damn him. _

“I’ll never forgive him,” she muttered.

“What’d I do this time?”

Her spine stiffened. Growling under her breath, she whirled around. Of course he was there, that  _ infuriating _ man, casually leaning on the tree as if nothing was wrong.  _ And _ he was wearing the haori she bestowed upon him.

“Everything,” she spat. “You did  _ everything _ wrong.”

“Funny, I thought you liked the spear,” he said. Instead of his usual smirk, he wore an awkward smile. It made her want to reach for him. But she couldn’t. Her walls were there for good reason.

“That’s  _ exactly  _ the problem,” Kama said, looking him dead in the eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Muramasa shrugged. “Well, I did. Ain’t gonna bother regrettin’ it now.”

She could have skewered him to the tree.

_ Why does he have to make this harder than it needs to be? _

“You’ll be regretting a lot of things soon enough,” she said, jabbing a finger towards him. “There are many, many more mistakes you can make. One of them you’re making right now, standing here. You shouldn’t have come.”

“What, you gonna zap me with lightnin’?”

“Maybe I  _ should!” _ she yelled. “Maybe putting you in traction will finally get it through your thick skull that I’m doing this for  _ you!” _

“Oh, you are?” 

_ “Yes, _ you idiot!” The divine part of her, the one who remained calm even as Shiva turned his blazing eyes upon him, warned that she was revealing too much. But the human part of her  _ needed _ him to hear this.

“A mortal like you could never understand,” she continued. “You’re like a child playing on the edge of a cliff, completely oblivious to the danger. Do not make the mistake of tumbling down to the rocks.”

He barked a laugh. “It’d take more than a small tumble to rip this old hide.”

“You’re impossible. Get lost.”

“I’m sorry,  _ Your Worshipfulness,” _ he drawled. She hated  _ (loved) _ that name so much. “I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down your request. Y’see, I’m a stupid mortal who don’t know too many things—”

“—like how to keep your mouth shut—” she interjected hotly.

“—but I don’t need immortality to know not to leave a friend alone when she’s hurtin’.” 

She forced down the twinge in her heart.

“We’re  _ not  _ friends,” she said slowly. “You’re just a pest.”

“A pest you keep hangin’ ‘round.” He sighed and walked around her to sit a few feet away. “So I guess all that about me bein’ your first mortal friend the other day was all bullshit, huh?”

Kama crossed her arms. 

“That’s right,” she said, even as her heart fell further. “So if we aren’t friends, you should just leave me alone, and we’ll never speak to each other again.”

“That’s what you really want, is it?” His gaze threatened to break down her walls. “You’d really be happy if we never spoke again?”

“More than you can imagine,” she said with a nod and a tight throat.

“Then how come you’re wearin’ my haori?”

Her eyes widened as she looked down.  _ Damn it, I forgot to get rid of it! _ Of course the impossible man caught her in her one moment of weakness. It seemed Brahma was still playing tricks on her.

“It’s an offering,” she snapped. “Do you think I’m friends with every person who presents gifts in return for my boon? It’s the nature of humans to worship, and for divinity to be worshipped. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then give it back,” Muramasa said softly.

“What?”

“It ain’t an offering. It was a gift to a friend. If you ain’t a friend no more, I want it back.” He took off the one she made for him and held it out. “You can have this one back in return, since we ain’t friends and all.”

Her pride screamed at her to tear the jacket off and throw it in his stupid face. But her fingers wouldn’t let go. She glared harder.

“That’s what I thought,” he said with a gentle smile. “I guess we’re still friends, then.”

Her glare intensified even further.

_ If only I had weaved it out of acid. He could be a puddle on the floor right now. _

Muramasa sighed, placing his hands on his thighs. 

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere right now,” he stated. “I shut the forge down for the day—”

“You  _ what?” _ she blurted.

“Yup.” He nodded. “I got nothin’ cookin’ right now, so I got all the time in the world. Talk to me.”

A pregnant pause hung in the air for a little while.

_ Fine. If that’s what he wants. I shall be firm, so he will never seek me out again. _

“I will no longer be occupying your space,” Kama dictated. “It may hurt a little now, but you  _ will  _ thank me in the long run.”

“And why’s that?” he asked, looking unimpressed.

“Because you are abandoning your dream for my favor.” She looked him right in the eye, daring him to contradict her.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really now? How’d you figure that?”

“When you forged that spear… for  _ me… _ did you not forget your dream for a little while?” She looked aside, clenching her fists. “Were you not thinking more of my smile than the karma you so desperately seek to sever? Did you not put aside your art for a few days, spend a few hours on appealing to my taste rather than your vision?”

The idiot gave her a half-smirk. “I already told you, it’s a craft, not art.”

She glowered. “Will you stop focusing on the trivialities and  _ listen  _ to me? By falling in love with me, you will be twisted until you no longer care about your blade, your dream. I will destroy you from the inside out. I will make you a hollow shell of a man devoted to my every footstep and I will  _ relish _ in it.”

She stood and glared down at him. “Is that what you want? Then continue to accost me. But know that I am a benevolent goddess, and I will not see one of the only humans I’ve ever  _ respected _ turned into a mindless idiot.”

He smiled and stood up himself, brushing grass off his legs. “So you do care about me. How sweet.”

“You’re not  _ listening _ to me!”

“And you haven’t considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I’m doin’ this because I want to? That it ain’t because of whatever divine aura you got, but because I actually like you?”

Kama swallowed down the pang in her throat. “Don’t be absurd. I’m barely a shard of myself, just enough to ruin you, but not enough to be worth it.”

A few heartbeats passed. Then Muramasa flicked her— _ hard. _

“Shut your damn mouth, you stupid idiot.”

_ “Ouch!” _ Kama put her hands on her forehead, more shocked than hurt. “What was that for!?”

“First of all, that was so goddamn stupid my hand moved all on its own.”

“Keep your dirty fingers to yourself,” she snapped, and parried the next flick. “Hah! Not this— _ ouch!” _

“Second of all,” he said, taking his foot off her toes. “You, of all people, should know it don’t work like that. You think I can just switch this thing off and on again?”

“You could at least direct it somewhere else…” she grumbled.

_ Somewhere healthier than  _ me.

“That samurai is quite pretty,” suggested Kama. She was very good at hurting herself.

“The  _ kid?” _ he asked in shock. “Are you callin’ me a cradle-robber? No, most people here are too damn young. They don’t  _ get it.” _

_ “You’re _ the one who fails to understand, you  _ arrogant buffoon!” _ she shot back, scowling at him. “You are throwing away  _ everything  _ you have built. I have seen many,  _ many  _ shatter themselves on love’s shores. I won’t let you be one of them.” 

He crossed his arms. “Who’re you to decide that?”

“I’m a  _ goddess.” _

“And I ain’t been to a shrine in fifty years. Never asked a god for life advice before, ain’t startin’ now.”

“Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be as stupid as you are now.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “I just make swords. I don’t need too much brains for that.”

Kama balled her fists.

“I can’t believe I fell in love with an idiot who’s proud of his idiocy,” she growled.

“And so the truth emerges.” Muramasa smirked. “Whaddya have to say for yourself?”

She shook her head. “My feelings don’t matter. I’m staying away for your sake.”

His smirk quickly fell away. “I thought you said you respect me. Why can’t you respect my choices?” He waved a hand. “If I wanna keep you around and you’re okay with stickin’ around, what’s wrong with that?”

She couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her, nor the edge of hysteria in it. “What is this, a romance novel?” she sneered, spite coloring her tone. “Do you want me to blush like a maiden so you can pick me up in your  _ big, strong arms _ and we can have our honeymoon?”

“Nah, you ain’t the maidenly type.” He tried and failed to smile, then pinched his brow. “Listen to me for a sec, will ya? If you respect me, then you need to let me make my own decisions. Lady, I’ve dealt with enough curses to know when a notion ain’t mine.  _ If, _ and this is a big if, that changes, you’ll be the first to know. But until then _ , _ this is somethin’ we work on together, ya hear me?”

Her lips pressed into a grim line. “I’m trying to help you, you stubborn ass.  _ I _ am the source of your problems. If we stay together, then—”

“—then you’re damn well gonna help me fix’em.” He gave her a reproachful look. “ _ If  _ and when they happen. You can’t just assume the worst from the start.”

_ “Yes I can!” _

Her scream echoed in the trees for a few seconds. She refused to look away from him.

“I’ve seen it over and over again,” she continued quietly. “I, more than anyone else, know how love twists the soul. So many before you have said the same thing, and every one of them lost themselves. You are no different than the rest.  _ Nothing _ makes you special, Muramasa.”

She slashed her finger through the air in a cutting gesture.

_ “Nothing.” _

His face fell, but he didn’t look away from her. The connection refused to snap, no matter how hard she willed it so.

“I never said I was. I’m just sayin’…” He sighed and finally looked away, scratching the back of his head. “I’m sayin’… aw, fuck it. I love you.”

She sighed and looked into the treeline as exhaustion settled over her. “I know. That’s what makes me worry so much.”

“Then take responsibility,” he said, faintly smiling.

“I’m  _ trying  _ to!” Her hands balled into tight fists. “Do you think this is  _ fun  _ for me!?”

“No it ain’t,” he said softly, “and I appreciate you’re thinkin’ of me. But it’s pretty clear by now that it ain’t workin’.”

“Then what do you suggest?” she said. She was too wrung out for spite.

He shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve… never really done this before.” He scratched his cheek. “So why don’t we just keep goin’ and see where it takes us?”

_ “Together?” _ she said with a touch of sarcasm.

“Well, I mean… why the hell not? Been workin’ out so far til you started overthinkin’ it.” He hesitated, then offered his hand palm-up. 

Pretty words. Kama would have dismissed them had they not felt  _ real _ . The first real words she’d heard since arriving at Chaldea, spoken to her haltingly in a fake forest of automata. 

It took her a moment to realize the shaky laughter ringing through the air was her own.

“Didn’t realize I was crackin’ jokes…” he muttered, but didn’t lower his hand. 

“Not you,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “The situation. It’s… absurd.”

“I figure that fits us both just fine,” he said with a smile. “And if you want… nothin’  _ really _ has to change. We can just go back to what we were doin’ before. Wouldn’t make much of a difference.”

She met his gaze. It was the same as it had always been, though it held far more warmth now than when she had first stumbled into his forge. He was obnoxious, stubborn as a mule, and as set in his ways as an old man could be. But he did not have the look of someone who was going to throw away everything for her. 

He wanted her—was  _ asking _ her—to be a part of his everything.

_ …damn it all. _

Kama was a creature of instinct, and she had denied herself for long enough.

“No,” she declared. “Something has to change.” 

Grabbing Muramasa by the collar of his haori, she pulled him into a deep kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I have much to say, except that this story isn’t over. There’s still a little bit more to say. And what kind of story would it be if we shut the curtains on the kiss?
> 
> Thank you to **Kat-2V** and **Exstarsis** for their input, and thank you to **TungstenCat** for her, well, everything. 
> 
> Your ending theme is [_4:42 Still Free_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4i9hpysvjnU) by **Danger**. 
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

Muramasa had a good feeling about this one.

It was still just a chunk of iron, glowing from the forge as he set it down on the anvil. But he could see the sword inside, clear as day. For the first time in ages, he wasn’t grasping in the dark. 

“You’re smiling.” Kama leaned over his shoulder. “Have you envisioned something beautiful?”

“You could say that.”

“More beautiful even than me?” she teased.

“Your Splendiniferousness,” he paused to let her wince at his mangled pronunciation, “when I’m at the forge, I got swords on the brain. Don’t ask me to compare stars to steel.”

“…I will have words with that Shakespeare,” she stated. But she looked pleased anyway. 

“Careful there. You might regret it. When he starts runnin’ his mouth, he don’t soon stop.”

She laughed. “I have ways to tie loose tongues.”

“I’m sure you do, Missus Most-on-High.”

“I see yours remains untamed.”

“Gotta problem with that?” 

“Not at all.” Her smirk was soft around the edges. “It’s quite refreshing.”

Muramasa huffed and got back to hammering. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kama pull out the black shirt she’d been embroidering in silver for the last week. The care she took in each stitch reflected the enchantments that would empower Da Vinci’s latest creation for their Master. He was surprised when she first brought it to the forge, but for once he didn’t tease her. He was happy to see her doing something for someone that wasn’t him. Even if she was already fond of Master in her own way.

_ Little steps. See where it takes us. _

The hammer fell again, and he took the iron to the forge once more. The silence stretched on comfortably between them. There was no need to fill it.

He was just about to fetch the piece back again when slender arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Unfortunately for you, I have an appointment to keep. I would tarry, but that Sion is quite strict with allowances for Rayshifting, and I would not want to disappoint Miyamoto.”

“I thought you guys were goin’ fishin’?” he asked, putting one of his hands on hers.

“There’s more than one kind of fish you can catch on a hook,” she whispered into his ear. “But don’t worry. I’ll bring back more than enough to fill your grumbling stomach.”

“Good. I got a hankerin’ for sushi.”

“I look forward to seeing how skillfully you prepare it once I come… home.” He could feel the surprise color her tone for a moment before she smiled into the word. 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he grumbled affectionately. “You can leave it to me,  _ Your Worshipfulness.” _

Her arms tightened around him as she pulled herself a little closer. “Very good. I like that one best.”

She let go and planted a kiss on his cheek, then floated off without another word. Muramasa smiled and brushed the spot with his hand. It was not an uncommon gesture, but she hadn’t hesitated that time. A week after their big… whatever that moment had been, and things were slowly getting easier.

_ Ain’t always smooth sailin’, but we’ll get there. _

Losing himself in his craft, he worked for a while in contented silence. Out of habit, he closed his eyes at the hiss of the water when he quenched the glowing metal. When he opened them again, he found he had company.

The red Archer stood in the doorway, running a hand nervously through his white hair. Muramasa wondered what the boy wanted. He knew of him by reputation, but they had never crossed paths before, let alone exchanged words.

He paused when the Archer’s eyes roamed over his face. But when the kid said nothing after a few moments, Muramasa returned to his anvil. He didn’t want to risk losing whatever spark he had going with this sword.

A cough echoed above the hammer blows. Muramasa sighed.

“Whaddya want, kid?” When he didn’t get an answer, he added, “You ain’t here for a sword, are ya? From what I hear, you got more than you know what to do with.”

“…I just wanted to talk.”

“Welp, here I am.” Muramasa slammed the hammer down one last time and turned to face the Archer. “Talk.”

The boy crossed his arms and stared at the half-shaped metal, then at the silver spindle hung up on the wall next to the waterskin.

“Is it worth it?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Huh?” Muramasa heard him perfectly fine, but he didn’t want his time wasted with people who couldn’t spit out what was on their minds. “Speak up, you’re mumblin’.” 

Archer took a deep breath, then looked him in the eye. “Your… relationship. Is it worth it?”

That made Muramasa smile a bit. “Well, she can be quite the handful when she gets annoyed,” he shrugged. “But… well, yeah. It’s worth it. Ain’t too many that make me happy like she does.”

The Archer hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“I ain’t gonna talk about bedroom habits with you, kid,” Muramasa said drily as he picked up the hammer again. “You want that stuff, there’s a pink-haired Rider who’d be happy to tell you all about it. At  _ length. _ ”

“I’d rather not,” he responded just as drily. “She’s the kind to strip you with her gaze alone.”

The smith paused with his hammer in mid-air. “The hell you talkin’ ‘bout? I’m thinkin’ about that kid who rides the hippogriff, where’s your brain at?”

“Oh—sorry.” He shifted his weight from one leg to another. 

_ Gettin’ real tired of walkin’ around the point, so you better get to it fast. _

Muramasa locked eyes with the Archer and lifted his hammer pointedly.

The kid got the message. “Your swords,” he said, nodding towards the iron on the anvil.

“What about ‘em?”

There was a glint of steel in the Archer’s eyes. “When you spend time with her, you’re not thinking about your swords, are you?”

A sigh escaped Muramasa once more.  _ Not this again. _

“No, I ain’t,” he grumbled. “Ladies prefer your full attention when you’re together. They take it real personal if you break a kiss to talk shop.”

“And you’re okay with that?” the other Servant pressed. “Swords are everything for you, aren’t they? They were your whole life once.”

“Yeah, well, turns out life ain’t just swords, kid,” Muramasa smirked. “Your life becomes worth a whole lot more when you have someone to spend it with.”

“And you have no regrets?” The Archer’s eyes were searching for an answer to a question he wasn’t saying—or couldn’t say.

Muramasa shrugged. “Ain’t too many folks who die without regrets. I sure as hell had my share, and I’m still haulin’ a bucket of ‘em.”

He spun the hammer in his hand idly and looked to the spindle hanging on the wall. “But no. I don’t regret the lady for one second. I’m still makin’ swords, I’m just takin’ breaks a bit more. When I get back to it, I feel better. Inspired, refreshed. That kinda thing.”

“Mm.” 

Muramasa waited a little longer, but when nothing more came, he got back to work.

_ Clang. Clang. _

“Can you teach me?” Muramasa almost missed the question in the ringing of iron.

“I thought you didn’t need to learn smithin’,” he said. “Folks talk about how you can copy any blade you see. Tryna put me out of a job?”

The Archer chuckled and gave him a rueful smile. “That’s just it. They’re copies. They aren’t my swords.”

Muramasa snorted. “Sure aren’t. So?”

“I want to make one for myself,” the other murmured. “I want something that’s really mine. Something I can… hold onto.”

Something in his face told Muramasa there was more here than just surface level desires. But he still wasn’t the type to pry, recent events involving a certain lady aside. He let it go.

Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Your first one’s gonna be garbage. You ready for that?”

Emiya smiled. “That’s why you keep trying again and again. Keep at it until it’s right.”

Muramasa mirrored that smile and pointed at the tool rack. “Then we might just get along. Now get those tongs and lemme show you how to purify iron.”

* * *

The sight of familiar horns flipped Kama’s smile to a frown. For a moment, she seriously considered turning on the spot and exiting the kitchen. She could return the dishes later.

_ …no. I won’t give her that power over me. _

Lifting her chin, she glided over to the counter and set down the cups and trays. She could almost picture Boudica’s reproachful look, but the woman really should be satisfied with this. Returning dishes was already a concession for a goddess. Washing them was out of the question.

A sweet aroma of sugar and cinnamon caught her nose and set her mouth watering. Against her better judgment, she turned towards the woman gently pulling a tray out of the oven.

“ _ Cookies? _ ” Kama demanded in astonishment, leaning over for a closer look. “ _ You’re _ making cookies?”

Kiara smiled and waved a hand encased in a flower-patterned oven mitt. “Would you like a taste?”

On any other occasion, Kama would have expected an innuendo dripping from the other’s lips. But as it was, she had no distraction from the cheerfully-shaped cookies. A pleasant steam wafted off of them.

“Did you think this beyond me?” Kiara continued. “I did quite a bit of baking back on Seraphix.”

“Are you laying yet another trap for Master?” She turned a flinty gaze to her counterpart. “I will not tolerate you digging your claws into her.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Kiara assured, placing the tray on the counter. “Though she may have quite the sweet tooth, these are not intended for her.”

“Then who have you set your depraved eyes on this time?”

Kiara smiled a little more brightly. “Who indeed, I wonder.”

The other woman hummed as she reached for the squeeze bottle of icing sugar. Kama watched in reluctant interest as the white lines added life to gingerbread genies and stars. 

_ Genies… _

“Scheherazade?” she asked aloud.

“She’s usually reluctant to accept treats if she does not know their origin,” Kiara said. “But she trusts me.”

“Quite the mistake to make,” she muttered, lacking her usual bite. “When did this happen?”

“I couldn’t quite tell you. It simply did.”

Kama put her hands on her hips. “So you feel no need to maintain even a semblance of professionalism? What happened to the distance between patient and therapist?”

Kiara smiled. “Well, I suppose it’s quite fortunate I lost my license, isn’t it?”

She gave the cow woman a flat stare, and in return Kiara held out a cookie. Before Kama quite realized it, her fingers had closed over the warm gingerbread. She had just brought it up to her mouth when the expectant look on Kiara’s face made her hesitate.

“What are you getting out of this?” she asked suspiciously.

The woman’s laugh looked a little less gracious behind an oven mitt. It did nothing to take away the shine in her eyes.

“Same as you. Companionship. Fulfilment in another.” She took a bite from one of her own cookies and gave a little sigh of appreciation, before smiling beatifically at Kama. “You seem quite happier than when you first arrived.”

Kama shoved the cookie in her mouth to give herself some time. A little dry, but far better than she had expected.

_ Am I happy? _ She rolled the thought over along with the snap of cinnamon on her tongue.  _ I am still myself, with all the resentment and spite. He does not make me forget them. _

She smiled around the bite.  _ But he makes it easier to bear. _

“That good, are they?” Kiara giggled. 

“Barely adequate,” said Kama dismissively. “And yet… I have no doubt that Scheherezade will eat them anyway, and perhaps even lie to you about how much she enjoyed them.”

“If she chooses to trust me to make them, then I will trust her to be honest with me.”

“…never mind, I think I’m going to be sick.” Kama turned away. “Seeing you dote so unabashedly on another is making my stomach churn.”

“And what do you call those dishes,” Kiara motioned to the plates next to the sink, “if not doting? We all do acts of service for those we love.”

Kama opened her mouth to argue the point, then slowly closed it as she turned the words over in her mind. A vision danced before her eyes of Muramasa’s grin as she carried two barrels down the hill by his side. How he always let the forge cool when she came by even though it meant the metal took longer to heat, just so they could speak more easily.

A distant wisp of memory, bright eyes gazing up at Kama on their wedding day. 

“I suppose you are correct,” Kama admitted grudgingly to hide her smile. “Though I am somewhat surprised. You’re usually the type to prefer grand demonstrations of passion.”

“Well, I see the value in everyday devotions too,” Kiara said. “But we can agree that sometimes one prefers the calm hearth over the roaring blaze, no?”

Kama scowled. “This is a lesson I learnt a long time ago. I don’t need to hear it again, especially from you of all people.” 

Kiara smirked and held up her tray. “Then would you care to learn baking instead? I’m sure we can find a sword-shaped cookie mold around here somewhere.”

“No,” Kama refused instantly. “I’m not going to learn to bake cookies for him.”

After a pause, she took a deep breath.

“But… I do have a good naan recipe that I could be persuaded to share.”

Kiara gave an easy smile. “How wonderful. I shall be delighted to try it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure you were hoping for a little more KamaMasa action. You’ll get it, don’t worry. But one of the things we wanted to emphasize with their relationship is that they’ve been through the wringer (though this is, admittedly, Muramasa’s first romance). They’re not the type to need to cling onto each other every second of the day. Absence is okay and on occasion even welcomed at this point. We wanted to show their ability to be comfortable with that, just as much as they are comfortable with each other. I promise you that you will be getting what you wish for soon.
> 
> Thanks to **TungstenCat** for continuing to put up with my idiosyncracies and stutters. You should go read what she writes, it’s way better than mine. I think she’s about to yell me, so I’ll let her do that real fast.
> 
> “Shut the hell up. I’m not putting up with you. If anything, I should be the one thanking you for bringing me on board this ship in the first place. Seriously, this was fun to write. And any excuse to write more Emiya is a welcome one.” 
> 
> Your ending theme is _[petals and butterfly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-BiGjZc1Ps)_ by **Yuki Kajiura**.
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

Kama easily sidestepped a Nue’s stomping foot, neatly slicing through its ankle as she moved past. Its roar of pain abruptly cut off when Muramasa decapitated it with a single jump, sheathing his blade with the typical dramatic flair of a Eastern swordsman as he landed.

Which proved that, for all of his protests of being a mere smith, he had all of the positive instincts and bad habits of a samurai. His showy maneuver left his back open as he recovered his balance, and a floating spirit was already diving forwards with its terrible claws bared.

Kama swiped her hand with a scoff and unleashed a blast of magic. The counter-spell ripped apart the energy holding the skeleton together, leaving it to collapse in a heap. Idly floating over the remains she unleashed a more violent torrent of light that forced another Nue to the ground.

It died within a heartbeat when Muramasa idly took its head.

They had thinned out most of the herd at this point. The vermin had stood no chance against their flashing blades, spear and sword flowing together into a reaping scourge. They had done this often enough that they could predict each other’s movements in a seamless dance.

When the last nue dropped, they turned as one to find Cú Alter impaling the last ghost on his bloodthirsty spear. Master’s shoulders slumped in relief as she surveyed the silenced battlefield, broken only by wind whispering through the bamboo and small drips of spiritual essence. 

“Good work, everyone,” she sighed.

Fighting her exhaustion, she formed the framework of empty lanterns from the Mystic Code embedded on her sleeve. Cú Alter and Muramasa quickly got to work ripping up the spirit essence and stuffing it into the lanterns until they glowed blue with power. Kama busied herself supervising their work. Not that they needed much advice, both being inclined towards efficiency, but it was the principle of the thing. 

“Right, that’s enough lanterns,” Ritsuka muttered as she looked over a tablet. “What’s next on Da Vinci’s list… cursed gallstones?” she groaned. “Oh  _ come on _ , not more boars!”

“Not tonight,” said Cú Alter in his knife-cold voice. “You’re at your limit.”

Ritsuka looked like she was about to protest when Kama interrupted her.

“You’ll be of no use if you collapse on the battlefield,” she sniffed. “And it would be below both our dignities if I were to haul you over my shoulder.”

A begrudging smile crept across the girl’s lips. “You guys worry way too much. But… thanks.”

Stretching her arms above her head, she looked around the clearing. “But can we set up camp somewhere else?”

“Forget camp,” said the spiny Berserker. “I’m taking you back to the inn.”

“But that’s miles away— _ eep! _ ”

He lifted her up in the crook of his arm until she was seated on his shoulder. Cú Alter gave Kama an odd little smirk, then strode off without a backwards glance.

Sighing, Ritsuka settled in and shifted to the two Servants left behind. “We’ll meet you there!”

“Might be a little while,” said Muramasa as he rubbed his chin. “Gonna take the chance to stop by my old place.”

“That’s right,” nodded the girl, “Your house wasn’t that far— _ ouch! _ Cú, watch the branches!”

There was no response as the Berserker strode on. Huffing, Ritsuka waved at them as they disappeared under the crest of the hill.

Kama gave the smith by her side a sly smile. “Bold of you to speak for a goddess. What if I wished to join Master?”

“Ain’t gonna stop you,” he said as he ran a careless hand through his hair. “But I was kind of hoping you’d come.”

Her smirk softened. “I’d be happy to.”

What was a rough night in a peasant hut, when his whole face brightened at her words?

Perhaps Varuna at least held her no grudge, for the downpour only began once they were in sight of the small straw-thatched house at the end of the forest trail. With a flick of her wrists, the white haori fell over her head and shoulders to shield her from the rain. Below her, Muramasa raised his own as they hurried to shelter.

Running up the wooden porch, Muramasa threw open the sliding paper door and waved her inside. The house didn’t smell as musty as she had feared. The light materials let the breezes pass through, such that the rooms smelled of rain and earth rather than decay. 

Kama floated around the few rooms, taking in the simple furniture and tatami mats on wooden floors.

“How quaint,” she smiled.

Muramasa huffed. “If I had the time, I woulda lined it in gold for ya, Your Worshipfulness.”

She scrunched her nose in distaste. “Certainly not. Gold is so unimaginative.”

“Then, for future reference, what wouldja like instead?”

“Decadence in moderation,” she smirked. “Some silks, a few cushions. Things for us to luxuriate on.”

The blacksmith took a few seconds to mock looking around the spartan hut. “I don’t think luxury’d look right here.”

“Ah, but don’t I?” Her grin grew wider, and he laughed. 

“Yeah, but you’d fit at home anywhere.”

“Even in a sewer?”

“You’d make the water look real nice.”

“…be very, very happy that I know and love you. Anyone else would have been disintegrated long before now.”

“Yeah, well, you knew what you were gettin’ into.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “A moment of folly for which I continue paying.”

He smiled. “Don’t pretend I ain’t worth it, princess.” 

Refusing to dignify that with a response, Kama drifted out into the forge attached to the house. It was far smaller than the one in Chaldea, the anvil crude and rusted beneath a layer of dust. But it felt like him in the way the tools were set out on the bench, the old waterskin hanging on the hook. She breathed in the faint scent of coal, and comfort settled warm in her chest. 

_ This is but a pale reflection of what he must have used in life _ . She lingered in the space, tracing a finger over the bellows.  _ How long did he work here before Master made her journey through this land? It could not have been more than a few months _ .

Yet the man had imprinted his personality as forcefully as his hammer and chisel.

A smile graced her lips as she wandered back into the hut.

She found Muramasa in the old bedroom. The floor was bare, the futons still rolled up in their dusty storage. He looked wistful as his gaze surveyed the space.

“You slept here?” asked Kama after a moment. “It doesn’t seem particularly comfortable.”

“It was good enough,” he said and scratched behind his ear. “And the kids never complained.”

“Kids,” she repeated, arching her eyebrows. “What happened to being the last of your line?”

“Not  _ my  _ kids,” he clarified. “Some brats I picked up.”

Despite the harshness of his words, his tone was soft and his smile fond.

A silence stretched between them, comfortable but for the melancholy on the man’s shoulders.

Kama brushed his arm. “You seem thoughtful.”

“They were good kids,” he muttered. “The girl never complained, no matter what chores I gave her. Patient with her brother, too. Guess she felt she had to look after him, parents dead and all.”

“And they came to you?” There was no judgment in her question, only curiosity.

“More like I found them under the rubble.” His lips pressed in a grim line. “Couldn’t just leave ‘em wandering alone, could I?”

“Many very well might have,” she said.

“Well I ain’t them,” he snorted, turning his back on the empty room and walking towards the forge.

She followed along. “You miss them,” she observed gently.

“Sometimes,” he grunted.

Observing the deep furrow of his brow, she pursed her lips. Then she flew a little closer and whispered teasingly in his ear. “If you want some of your own, you need only but ask.”

She moved away with a laugh as he swatted half-heartedly in her direction.

“Shut it,” he said. “Don’t make an offer y’ain’t followin’ through on.”

Kama held the smirk a little longer as he looked around the forge. He picked up the tongs, then grunted and threw them back on the bench. “Nothin’ to take back after all.”

Yet he lingered in the silent forge, and Kama remained at his side.

“If you’d made that offer sixty, seventy years ago…” he said eventually, then shook his head. “Nah, who’m I trying to fool? It was always the forge for me.”

“But had you chosen differently…” she suggested.

He looked into the cold ashes. “Yeah. It woulda been different, for sure. Those mighta been my real grandkids.”

With a sigh that could move mountains, he strode past her to the porch outside. Water fell steadily from the overhang, and the air was chilly. Kama could almost hear his joints creaking despite his young body as he took a seat on the edge. Once she was sure he wasn’t seeking solitude, she joined him.

After a long silence, he spoke. “I lived too long. I’ve seen too many winters fall. Near the end of my time, after I’d had my fool apprentice take over for me ‘cause I couldn’t lift the hammer no more, I’d accepted it was over. I wasn’t ever gonna make that sword.”

He slowly cracked his knuckles one-by-one. “No matter how many I made, I didn’t feel any closer than when I finished my first one. I failed my mentor, and I… I was real tired. I’d been tryin’ for so long and had nothin’ to show for it.”

Kama could have mentioned any of a dozen famous Muramasa blades, but she held her silence. She knew they didn’t matter to him. They weren’t his dream.

“So one day,” he continued with a wry smile, “when I hobbled into my forge, my apprentice—who wasn’t too young himself—had brought his boy in. The kid was interested, certainly had a thing for the craft, but I could tell. Neither him, nor his kid, nor his kid’s kid—none of ‘em had the spark. They wanted to smith, but they didn’t have the passion—the  _ craving _ for the blade I was lookin’ for. They had other things on their mind.”

Muramasa settled back, the weight on his shoulders growing heavier. “My apprentice had a family to worry about. And that really struck me. I mean, he was just showing the kid how to hammer properly, and he was smilin’ like no one’d ever smiled in my forge before.”

He swallowed thickly. “I never smiled like that, never. I had my happy times… but nothin’ like that. And I kept wonderin’… what’d I miss? Was there something I did wrong? And I could feel the answer in my gut… I chose this life, made the decision to follow my mentor’s dream.”

He paused for a moment, then spoke as if he were reassuring himself. “I  _ chose  _ this. And I wasn’t happy, but… I didn’t regret it. I didn’t  _ wanna _ regret it, I wanted to…”

His fists trembled on his thighs. Kama touched his arm again, and he sighed, some of the tension leaving him. 

“I knew the kid wouldn’t see it through, that this dream’d die with me. But I didn’t want to regret it—I wanted to be satisfied that I tried. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. You know, what was I doin’, all that time? Should I’ve even bothered?”

“You say that,” interrupted Kama, “But you still haven’t given up, even to this day.”

Muramasa laughed weakly. “Well, I mean… I was given a second chance. If I had the time, the body and the energy, I had to keep going. Givin’ up would’ve meant spittin’ on my mentor’s grave.”

“It was harder for you to give up than to keep going,” Kama suggested.

She would know, for even this paltry shard could not help but love. It bloomed, even when her heart was buried in the deepest snow.

He nodded, then turned to look her in the eye. “Even if I know I’m never givin’ up, I appreciate that you brought some balance to my life. Without you… things wouldn’t feel right anymore. I ain’t ever gonna smile like he did, but… I like the one I got these days.”

“That is  _ incredibly  _ sappy,” she said with a soft smile.

“Well that’s too bad, cause it’s true.” He took her hand, his palm rough and calloused against hers. “Thank you.”

A painful joy lodged in Kama’s throat. No tears formed in her eyes, but her brow softened. This was the most open Muramasa had ever been with her. With anyone, perhaps.

Kama wanted to respond to that open heart. For the first time since she’d manifested above the summoning circle, she let herself reflect on her own path. The narrow trail offered to the pitiful shard of a whole, instead of the swirling arm of the galaxy that Kama— the  _ whole  _ of her—had once called home. 

She hesitated, her hands wringing in her lap. Her gaze looked out at the thick rainclouds that hid away the sky. Then, as softly as the rain pattering down, she spoke.

“When Kama first set eyes on Rati, it was the happiest moment of his life. Her eyes were beautiful and dark, like there was a piece of the night sky suspended in them. Her arms were slender, her movements filled with an impossible grace as she turned to face him. But it was her smile that set his heart aflame. The moment they shared that smile, he knew he could never look away from her.”

Her lips quirked. “He would never want to. It was true love at first sight.”

The touch of Muramasa’s rough thumb over the back of her hand was a comfort. It gave her the courage to continue saying aloud what she had barely voiced to herself.

“He was blindingly happy, like the sun burning in his chest. A flame of happiness and love, impossible to quench. So much that he didn’t care if he looked like a fool.”

Sighing, she turned to the smith sitting next to her.

“I know all this with my mind. The pages of this story are well-worn, I turn them over often. But this poor shard cannot feel it. It happened to someone else, long ago. And I…” 

Her heart stung in her chest, and her hand rose instinctually to clutch at it.

“…I am but a fragment of a whole, so diminished from what I once was. There have been many times I felt empty, numb. At least at first, I had my divine power to cling to. After my defeat, I lost even that. Then what was there for me but meaningless days, strung one after another?”

She felt a reassuring squeeze around her hand, and smiled. A shaky thing, but a smile nonetheless.

“I can remember the color of Rati’s sun, though its warmth eludes me. But when I’m here with you…” She squeezed his hand back. “…that sensation doesn’t feel so distant.”

She moved her other hand from her chest to clasp his fingers in all of hers.

“You, thankful to me? I am thankful to  _ you _ .” 

Without releasing her grip on his hand, she moved into his lap. His free arm wrapped around her waist.

“Because of you,” she breathed into the crook of his neck, “I am a little closer to whole.”

He pulled her tight towards him until she was settled comfortably against his broad chest. The storm couldn’t touch her here in his embrace, basking in their shared warmth. He buried his nose in her hair, just above her temple, and sighed.

They stayed there for a while, until the rain was little more than a soft murmur over the grounds.

“We should head inside,” he said. “The nights get chilly around here.”

Kama nodded. Together, they made their way inside and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah. That’s the good stuff. 👌
> 
> Apologies for the delayed release, some crap came up over the past week that prevented us from finishing the chapter. One thing is for certain, though: the final chapter will be out just before Ooku releases in NA. I’ll say all the things I want to say when we get there, because I have a _lot_ of things to say.
> 
> Thanks to **TungstenCat** for letting me dictate thoughts to her that she takes notes on and then can magically turn into an actual story. She’s kind of the best. And thanks to **Kat-2V** for his editing and polishing help. These two kitties do so much for me and they deserve _all_ the scritches. 
> 
> Your ending theme is [_In the Air Tonight_](https://youtu.be/k7agiqfuQmQ) by **The Protomen**. 
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading.


End file.
